


Synergy

by Kokochan, TheBlueSpanch



Series: Of The Pack [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cooking, Dragons, Fighting, Gen, Humor, It's a great big universe and we're all really puny, Light Angst, Magic, Multi, Sorta mid season 1, Strange Alien Cultures and How Not To Embarass Yourself In Them Class 101, Tags May Change, Team Bonding, Team as Family, pre-season 2, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 10:19:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 74,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11507382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kokochan/pseuds/Kokochan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlueSpanch/pseuds/TheBlueSpanch
Summary: The vines were large, stiff, gnarly, and thick-stemmed, with blue leaves as big and round as dinner plates, but Shiro's battle-arm was able to sever several long straggles with ease. The vines draped easily enough over the shuttle and hid it quite handily from view. “Good enough, I suppose,” Shiro said, glaring at the empty greenish-blue sky. “Come on, let's... Hunk? What's the matter?”Hunk was staring at something behind him. “Shiro, don't make any sudden moves just now, but there's a really big lizard thing standing right behind you. Um. Two of them.”Surprised, Shiro turned, albeit carefully. He'd never even heard them approach. That was rather impressive, considering the size of the beasts. It was as though someone had taken a pair of Arizonan horned lizards and rebuilt them more on the lines of a tiger without leaving out any of the spikes, then expanded them to about the size of an Indian elephant and added six large, intelligent blue eyes. Understandably, Shiro froze in place.





	1. Into the Un-mown

**Author's Note:**

> My name is on this fic because I helped with the plotting and keeping people mostly in character. But Spanch did all of the typing and wordsmithing. We still argue over who did more work. I say she did. She says I did. This war has no end, I fear...  
> Voltron and its characters belong to their rightful owners. The original characters all belong to Spanch, and are hers hers hers and if Michael Bay comes within ten miles of them, she will chuck him into the ocean and blow the shark whistle. She has not forgiven him for Transformers. Neither have I, so I'm building that shark whistle.

**Synergy**

**by Kokochan and The Blue Spanch**

 

Part 1: Into the Un-mown

 

The recording was possibly the last one that King Alfor had made before he had died, and time and circumstances had not been kind to it. The image was blurry and tended to jump unexpectedly, and much of the message was lost to static. He looked as though he had been under a terrible strain at the time, and there was a thread of despair in his voice that he had tried and failed to conceal behind an air of stern dignity. Despair, and a terrible sorrow that transcended the years and brought tears to Allura's eyes that she did not bother to hide from the Paladins.

“Can you clean that up any?” Hunk asked Pidge, who shook her head.

“I don't know enough about Altean recording technology to risk it. Coran?”

“Nope, this is as good as it gets. The housing on the terminal had cracked, and there was grime all over the circuitry. We're lucky that we've still got this much of it.”

“Play it again,” Shiro said, frowning at the screen. “There's something important in this.”

Coran keyed the message to replay, and they all paid careful attention as Allura's father spoke again.

“ _Allura, my beloved daughter. If you are viewing this then I am already—_ zwrp _—orgive me, but it had to be done. Zarkon has gone—_ fznpth--”

“Wow, I didn't know Zarkon could go _fznpth,”_ Lance muttered. “I heard that it takes years of training—ow!”

“Shaddap,” Pidge said, threatening to smack him again.

“— _other Paladins have gone ahead to conceal theirs, but the need for secrecy has required them to go alone. They will not be coming—_ phwatshhh _—icide. I have already sealed the black Lion within the Castle and will soon take my own to its place of safety; I do not doubt that you will be able to find it later, and the others will—_ gnnnnzp _-_ thp-thp-thp _—in their various locations. However, despite the retrieval of the Lions, any candidates that you find for them will be untrained; I doubt very much that any of our military academies will survive what is coming. The training deck's systems should be sufficient to insti—_ fwrawop _—but if you still find yourself overma—_ gnac-gnac-gnac _—the planet Zampedri in the System that bears the same name, Pacambari Sector, Quadrant Three, in the Tuloni Region. You will find som—_ gwarp _—aid you, mighty weapons that the Galra—_ pshhhtt _—cannot guess. Only time will tell if your brave young heroes will be—_ ffsssst _—but it will be worth the effort. I love you and will always love you, my daughter. Farewell._

“'Mighty weapons',” Lance said. “I like the sound of that. Sounds like somebody stashed a cache of goodies. Oooh—like maybe bigger wings, or really big gun, or a robot hero-cape.”

Shiro sat back, scowling at Alfor's blurred, weary image. “Maybe. Maybe not. I don't like his mention of the Galra. Were these weapons stolen from them, or just hidden? Or are they something completely different?”

“He mentioned the training deck,” Keith pointed out. “Maybe the weapons are for us, like backup bayards or something.”

“Oooh, or maybe it's like a secret order of space ninjas,” Hunk said enthusiastically, striking what he thought was a martial pose, “and they'll teach us space ninja stuff. You can have cosmic powers when you're out in the cosmos, can't you?”

Allura was frowning as well, but thoughtfully. “I think that I may have heard the name before. _Zampedri._ Coran, didn't your grandfather like to take vacations there?”

Coran tugged on his mustache with a nostalgic smile. “He did indeed, Princess. A pretty planet, he said, although a bit wild, and had some interesting wildlife. He was very fond of some of them. Don't know if it's still the same, though. That planet's fairly close to the Galra core worlds. Not too close, though, and it's got some odd spacial anomalies scattered around the region that make navigating that place a bit of a hazard. Let's see if I can get a little current information, eh? For all I know, the Galra've solved those puzzles, paved the planet over, and the cache was discovered in someone's vegetable garden.”

“I hope not,” Lance said darkly. “My cousin Carlos was pretending to dig for pirate treasure in a vacant lot once, and came up with sixty pounds of smuggled cocaine. The neigbors were kind of upset but hey, pirate treasure.”

“Just not the good kind,” Pidge added.

“Nah. That was the half-million bucks they found underneath the drugs, and the cops wouldn't let him have any of it, and he kept yelling 'finders keepers' at them until they asked Aunt Lucia to take him home.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Carlos,” Hunk said. “Didn't he decide that he wanted to be a cop after that?”

Lance grinned. “Yeah, until he found out that they weren't allowed to keep the treasure, either. Any luck, Coran?”

“Yes, actually,” Coran indicated a screen, which showed an unfamiliar star system. “We're just close enough to Empire space to pick up the local newsnets and public navigational chart archive. Zampedri's still there, and apparently untouched. There's nothing in that system to interest the big industries, apparently, and the living worlds don't seem to be worth the bother of colonizing. They've just sort of... forgotten about the place, which is a little odd. Handy for us, although they do patrol it now and again, probably to train new pilots in how not to get your ship yanked apart by an unexpected singularity. We'll have to be careful, however. That system's deep within their home space, and doubtless they've broadcasted the Castle's image to every starship captain out there, to say nothing of the Lions. Stealth would be our best bet, I'd say. One of the scout shuttles, do you think, Princess?”

“We can't risk the Lions,” Allura said dubiously, studying the screen, “but we also need any advantage we can get. We are, I fear to say it, rather badly outmatched; if Father left us something to find on Zampedri, then we must at least look for it. I can hide the Castle among the moons of that gas giant there. It's within the range of the two-man shuttle, and close enough to our target that the rest of us can come to help if you run into trouble. All we need to do now is to decide who goes.”

That meant who among the Paladins, of course. The big and unspoken fact was that neither Allura nor Coran could come along, since they would be needed on deck to pilot the Castle. Shiro, at least, was used to this sort of thing. “I'll go. Anyone want to keep me company?”

“I'll go,” Keith said, only to collect a dirty look from Lance.

“No, I will. It's my turn to check out the new fancy weapons or space ninjas or whatever.”

“No, I will,” Pidge said. “It might be a machine of some sort, and neither of you are qualified for figuring those out.”

Keith snorted. “If it is, it'll probably be for Voltron, and you won't be able to move it.”

Hunk brightened up. “I'm good at moving heavy things.”

Lance humphed. “Sit down, Hunk, you already got the Balmera trip. Give someone else a shot.”

“We _all_ had to do the Balmera trip, and nearly got blown up by that laser-lizard thing!” Pidge snapped. “If this'll get us something that can make it easier to deal with monsters like that, I don't want any of you breaking it by mistake!”

The discussion dissolved into chaos at that point as the three boys all took exception to that remark.

Shiro sighed and glanced at the Princess. “Take us to Zampedri, Princess. We'll discuss it while you drive.”

 

***

 

“This wasn't a good idea,” Hunk muttered grumpily for the third time; they'd drawn lots in the end, and he'd won. Or lost, depending on who you asked.

“Granted,” Shiro replied shortly, throwing the ship into a tight curve to avoid the plasma pulses from the enemy cruiser, “but if we can find that cache--”

The ship shuddered as a bolt struck them a glancing blow and the control board lit up with warning lights. Among them was the one that told him that the comms were dead. Shiro muttered a curse and altered their course again. There was no way that the little scout shuttle would be able to fight the much larger craft, and escape was starting to look pretty chancy as well. Fortunately, this particular solar system had several planets that would support human life; unfortunately, none of them were inhabited. The largest and lushest-looking of those was their target world, and some twerp of a Galra warship captain had decided to patrol along the scenic route today. The ship shuddered again from another near miss, and Hunk had to hold onto his lunch as his copilot threw their damaged scout on what looked to be a suicidal course through a meteor swarm. Their little ship squeezed through the field of jagged space junk without too much trouble, but the Galra cruiser was forced to slow down and try to clear itself a path. With a sigh of relief, Shiro ducked down around a pair of small moons to approach the nearby planet. Hunk didn't much like the look of it, but he kept his opinions to himself. He knew better than to jostle the older man during reentry.

They made it down in one piece, although the ship would have liked to dispute that. Shiro had not been idle when the training sessions were done for the day, but had been studying the Castle's scattering of small craft. He was a gifted pilot, but there were limits. Having your ass shot off by the enemy was one of them, and he was glad that he had the one engineering-trained member of the crew with him.

“Can we fix it?” Hunk asked, examining the torn and scorched hullplate near the drive tubes.

“You tell me,” Shiro said, opening the rear cargo compartment and hauling out a large crate. “Coran made sure that we had a repair kit. I know that you've had a look at the manual for these.”

“Yeah, a look. In between all that training and fighting and stuff. Please tell me that the repair kit has instructions.”

Shiro popped open the crate, fished around inside, and handed him a booklet. “It's our lucky day.”

More or less. It was written in Altean, but the diagrams were very clear, and with only a little bad language, they were able to get a good start on the project, at least. The rumble of an alien spacecraft cutting through the upper layers of the atmosphere forced them to stop. A thin white streak in the sky well to the west marked the passage of their pursuer. “Damn,” Shiro muttered, the fist of his prosthetic clenching reflexively, “we'll have to conceal the shuttle somehow and wait until they either land or give up. Can you see anything useful?”

They had come down on a wide stretch of grasslands, dotted here and there with small, dense clumps of palmlike trees, tangled up at the bases in some sort of vine. Other than that, there were only endless fields of tall yellowish grasses. Very tall grasses, he noticed, much taller than any Earthly grass other than bamboo.

“The vines, maybe,” said Hunk dubiously. “There's a patch just over there. Give me a hand with those?”

The vines were large, stiff, gnarly, and thick-stemmed, with blue leaves as big and round as dinner plates, but Shiro's battle-arm was able to sever several long straggles with ease. The vines draped easily enough over the shuttle and hid it quite handily from view. “Good enough, I suppose,” Shiro said, glaring at the empty greenish-blue sky. “Come on, let's... Hunk? What's the matter?”

Hunk was staring at something behind him. “Shiro, don't make any sudden moves just now, but there's a really big lizard thing standing right behind you. Um. Two of them.”

Surprised, Shiro turned, albeit carefully. He'd never even heard them approach. That was rather impressive, considering the size of the beasts. It was as though someone had taken a pair of Arizonan horned lizards and rebuilt them more on the lines of a tiger without leaving out any of the spikes, then expanded them to about the size of an Indian elephant and added six large, intelligent blue eyes. Understandably, Shiro froze in place.

They examined each other for a long, nervous moment, and then one of the lizard-beasts chirped. A chirp like the biggest bird ever born, but a chirp nonetheless, and the other answered with an ear-boggling collection of twitters, grunts, and whistles that sounded almost like language. The first one responded in kind, showing fangs longer than Shiro's fingers, and then they both lowered their broad, spiky heads to sniff at him.

They were quite gentle about it, and Shiro was even more surprised when they emitted high-pitched, squeaky little sneezes and began giggling like little girls. _Exactly_ like little girls, which is not a sound that should be coming out of a creature that was covered nose-to-tail in spines. Hunk got the same treatment a moment later, and stood as still as a stone and sweating in terror while the lizard-beasts giggled in his ears. “Well, they don't seem hostile,” Shiro ventured, carefully patting a lizard on one flank; it glanced at him and sniffed at his arm thoughtfully, venting a grunt.

It chirruped at its partner, and they both looked up at the sky—in the direction that the Galra cruiser had been headed, Shiro noticed. The second lizard hissed and bobbed its head, then turned broadside to Hunk and extended a long scaly foreleg, an obvious invitation to mount up. “Wait, what?” Hunk asked, backing away, “you want us to ride you? But--”

The other lizard gave him a hard nudge in the rump, nearly knocking him into the first lizard's shoulder, and then gave Shiro a significant look out of three azure eyes before, very pointedly, extending its own foreleg. Shiro sighed. “All right, we get the message,” he said, and carefully climbed up the offered limb.

He settled himself down cautiously among the rows of sharp spines and scales, gripping the creature's horns gingerly and offering up vague prayers of thanks that they were both wearing their armor. The lizards paused for just long enough to let their riders find a good seat, and then took off at a gallop with Hunk howling in protest.

They ran like big cats did, he noticed after a little time, with huge surging strides that sneered at the miles, almost effortless and far faster than one would think possible for creatures of that size. Tree-clumps whizzed by at a frightening rate and the grasses were one long stream of yellow, eventually giving over to larger copses of taller trees with spreading blue fernlike foliage. Hidden in the thickest part of this spotty woodland was what appeared to be a dwelling of some sort. It was large and looked like a collection of blue eggs clustered around a much larger ovoid, with each egg-shape ringed with windows around the pointy end; the front door was open, and there was a savory smell of cooking in the air. The two lizards slowed to a halt outside of this fragrant doorway and chirped loudly, allowing their riders to slide off. Hunk fell to the ground with a thud and a groan. After a minute, he heaved himself upright with a visceral growl. “I smell bacon,” he said grimly. “That had better be bacon, or I'm going to--”

His words were lost when his lizard uttered a peremptory bark.

“All right, all right, I'm coming,” a woman's voice said from inside, “if that last batch burns, Soluk, you're eating every last one yourself. Oh, my goodness.”

The person who stepped out of the house was tall, purple, and rather furry, with pupilless yellow eyes and large, pointed ears. Shiro stared, having seen something like her before, although in nothing like so pleasant a situation. “You're a Galra?”

She smiled, or perhaps _smirked_ would have been a better word for it. “Yes, sorry, it's a chronic condition. I'll try not to get any of it on you. Soluk, Tilla, just where did you find these two?”

Hunk snorted in amusement. “I like her,” he murmured to Shiro as the two lizards chirruped and rattled at their friend. Shiro would have snapped a warning at him, but the Galra female spoke first.

“Tilla and Soluk here tell me that they found you on the plain, playing with shield-vines,” she said, “I assume that you were concealing a ship?”

“Yes,” Shiro said cautiously, watching the woman for sudden moves.

“Good. I saw that cruiser fly by a little earlier, despite the fact that I've got a ward-off beacon going. We don't often get patrols out here—there's nothing at all of interest to the Empire on this world, but I dislike having to run nosy people off while I'm busy.” She eyed them curiously for a moment. “I don't recognize your kind. Where did you come from?”

“I'm not sure that we should tell you that,” Shiro said warily, although Hunk made a sound of protest behind him.

She smiled again. “That's all right, I enjoy a puzzle. Just who you are isn't as important right now as _what_ you are; that armor is very distinctive, isn't it? You're a couple of Voltron's Paladins.”

Shiro hissed and dropped into a fighting stance, his battle-arm at the ready. “And what are you going to do about that?”

She shrugged. “Invite you in for lunch. Even with my dragons here helping, I can't eat a whole batch of tanrook buns alone. Relax, man, I'm not going to make a fuss. Emperor Zarkon's been on the throne for far too long, and I'm perfectly happy to sit back and watch you boot him off of it. Someone will have to, sooner or later, or he'll wind up destroying the Empire himself. Not everybody approves of him, or of that psychotic witch of his. Come on in, boys. I'm Lizenne, by the way.”

With that, she turned on her heel and went back inside, leaving the two men feeling somewhat at a loss. Hunk shrugged and followed his nose, with Shiro trailing uncertainly behind. The interior of the building was large and open and arranged around a sunken central area stocked with soft furnishings and bits of odd equipment or statuary placed here and there, all of it spotless and comfortable-looking, although one fixture seemed strangely out of place. It looked something like the medical pods in Allura's castle, but it was horizontally-positioned instead of vertical, and it was occupied. Shiro paused for a look, and then had to stare. He knew this person from somewhere. His mind filled with flickering images and sensations—he was in the arena again, gasping for breath as he fought for his life, tasting blood on his lips and smelling his own sweat while something huge and armored and rageful screamed at him, yellow eyes glaring insanely in a face distorted with pain and fury...

He felt a hand on his shoulder and had to stop himself from smashing Hunk to the floor. He leaned on the unit, breathing heavily and trying to calm his thundering pulse. The Galra contained inside the medical machine was unconscious, and in very poor shape. He'd been an imposing figure once, long in the leg and broad across the shoulders. He was gaunt now, his bones visible under the fine purple fur, his face was lined with exhaustion and old pain, and his body was a webwork of pale scars.

“Don't tap on the glass, please,” Lizenne said sternly, “he needs his rest.”

“Where... where did you find him?” Shiro asked hoarsely, “Who is he?”

Lizenne laid a hand on the med unit gently and answered in a sad voice, “Parzurak SpaceHab, although everybody just calls it the Center. It's where Zarkon has his throne, and where Haggar likes to test out her little toys. Modhri here used to be the commander of a battleship. He wound up being demoted to lab animal for the heinous crime of being a sensible person.”

“Wait, what?” Hunk asked. “What did he do?”

Lizenne's yellow eyes glared disapprovingly at Modhri's scars. “He was on patrol in Oporitu space when his destroyer ran afoul of a Gantarash pirate fleet. Very nasty, your basic Gantar privateer, and their ships are tough enough to pose a real threat. Modhri here had to make an executive decision: he could either fight it out, defeating the pirates and losing most of his crew in the process, or he could run back to the nearest garrison for backup. He chose to run, not willing to risk such bad odds. The Emperor didn't approve.”

“Wait, so he got busted for _not_ getting his ship wrecked and his crew dead?” Hunk demanded. “Doesn't that, like, defeat the whole purpose?”

Lizenne nodded. “It does, although the survivors would have been stronger, or at least all the more paranoid for the adventure. All Zarkon cares about is strength. It's all he's cared about for ten millennia, and that obsession will be not only his downfall, but everyone else's. Modhri here was given over to the witch Haggar and her Druids, and they did some monumentally horrible things to him. He lasted perhaps three fights in the arena before something faster, more skilled, or luckier took him down. He was still alive when they dumped him into the charnel pit, and I was able to pull him out before they sent the bin into the incinerators. As you can see, I've had to more or less rebuild him from the ground up, and he may never fully recover.”

Shiro shuddered, rubbing at his battle arm. “I might have been the one that broke him. Sorry. I don't remember much, but...”

She stared for a long moment at the arm he held up. “Go sit down at that table by the window while I rescue the buns. I'll want a look at that.”

 

Tanrook buns did indeed taste much like bacon, and Hunk piled into them with a will after Lizenne had demonstrated their wholesomeness by eating one herself. Shiro was a little more circumspect, but it was hard going. Altean food was nutritious, but it didn't taste at all palatable most of the time, and they'd seemingly never gotten the hang of crispy things.

“Not surprising,” Lizenne said when Hunk commented on that. “If you look at an Altean's teeth, you'll see that they evolved to eat mushy things. They've got a nice set of incisors, but they have no canines and only two pairs of bicuspids. All of the rear teeth are flat. Their tastes in cuisine certainly suggest that they evolved in a swamp somewhere.”

“You've eaten Altean cooking?” Shiro asked curiously.

“Alas, yes. My mother had an Altean cook among her servants when I was little, and the dear lady would occasionally make little treats for herself. She'd give me a taste whenever I caught her at it, just to keep me quiet.” Lizenne tapped her own sharp teeth with an equally sharp nail. “Nearly glued my mouth shut, in fact. I soon learned to keep secrets in other ways. Let me see your arm, please, I promise that I won't do anything sinister to it.”

Hunk stared at her in disbelief while Shiro undid the catches on his armor. “I thought the Alteans were extinct. It's been ten thousand years, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Lizenne murmured, taking Shiro's battle-arm in her hands, carefully examining the articulation of the fingers. “Zarkon was not at all pleased when that king of theirs broke Voltron up and hid the parts. Altea and most of its Colonies were smashed, save one. The survivors of those destroyed worlds were rounded up and marooned there; every last ship that could get into orbit was destroyed, and everyone who knew how to build more were slaughtered. The planet itself was sealed inside a very large force shield, and that whole solar system remains heavily patrolled to this day. They're alive in there, but they aren't going anyplace. Hah. Now, this is interesting.”

“Oh?” Shiro asked.

Lizenne flexed the wrist of his arm and peered hard at the joint. “I would guess that your world is a very recent Imperial acquisition, or else it's still in the evaluation phase. This is a compatibility test. Does it hurt to use? Any loss of dexterity or range of motion? How about the battle systems?”

Shiro and Hunk both tried to speak at once, glanced worriedly at each other, and then Hunk sank down in apologetic silence. “The arm feels normal most of the time, and acts normal as well. The battle systems were painful at first; they've gotten less so over time. What do you mean by 'compatibility test'?”

Lizenne humphed and switched her attention to the elbow, examining the spot where human flesh met alien technology. “It's the standard operating procedure, and has been for ages. Whenever the Empire finds an inhabited planet, it's watched and studied for a while so that the military will know what amount of force to use to take that world without too much trouble and expense. Do your people have starflight yet, or any off-planet colonies?”

“We've got a base on the Moon and some space stations,” Hunk replied. “That's about it. Shiro here was part of the first manned scientific mission to Kerberos—that's one of the moons orbiting our outermost planet—when the Galra kidnapped them. That was a little more than a year ago.”

“Just on the brink of extrasolar travel, then. No wonder they're taking their time with you.” Lizenne flicked him a smile. “Peoples at that particular point of development can carry some nasty surprises for alien invaders. I expect that you and your teammates were enslaved and handed off to the Druids for study, yes? And wound up in the arena as per usual.”

Shiro heaved a shuddering sigh and nodded. “I did. The others... I think they were sent to a work camp somewhere. My memories of that time are spotty at best.”

“Probably trauma. Haggar and her butchers tend to be rough with victims, and I wouldn't put it past her to play around a bit with your psyche a little. The fact that you were in their hands for a year without going mad is a good sign. You were a test subject, to see whether or not Galra technology was compatible with your biology. Since your body hasn't rejected the arm, I'd say that it's a success.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Hunk asked.

Lizenne snorted. “Yes to both. It'll keep them from labeling your kind as worthless, although if your people do wind up being conquered, your best physical specimens will spend a lot of time being turned into battle machines and monsters. It's better than the alternative, though; worthless races are generally enslaved, encapsulated like the Alteans until a use is found for them, or eradicated and their worlds either colonized or stripped of anything of value. The Empire has bad habits.”

Hunk stared at Shiro's arm in horror. “Can you replace it? Y'know, take it off and grow him a new one, like Modrhi over there?”

Lizenne released Shiro's arm and handed him another bun. “Eventually. My equipment's of decent quality, but it's old and slow, and the ship's not set up for a proper upgrade. He'd have to permit me to take a genetic sample, then wait a year or two while I map the whole thing out so that I'm sure that I know what I'm doing with it, then wait several weeks while I clone him a fresh one. After that, he'd have to undergo two surgeries—one to remove the mechanical one and another to graft on the replacement, and then he'd have to spend another uncomfortable and frustrating year or two healing up, strengthening the muscles, and improving his control of it. I'm sorry, but you just can't rush some things. Poor Modhri would say that you'd gotten off very lightly. There really wasn't all that much of his original body left, and what there was, was badly damaged.”

Shiro accepted this with a stoic nod and put his gauntlet back on. “Fine. I can live with this. For now, at least.”

“Good, because you don't have much of a choice. My turn to ask a question, gentlemen,” Lizenne fixed them both with a golden-eyed look. “How did you find the Lions? Zarkon's been tearing up great swathes of the galaxy for ten millennia looking for those things.”

Hunk smiled ruefully and grabbed another bun. “We didn't, really. They found us. The blue one had been hidden on our planet. When Lance popped the shield on it, we all sort of crowded in, and then it took over and brought us all the way out here.”

“Ah. The Histories do mention that the Lions were a gestalt engine, and had minds of their own. They really were a magnificent piece of work, and unique, or there would be a very great many more Voltrons flying around.” Lizenne scowled at nothing in particular. “And the Empire would have been smashed long ago. I very much doubt that you found the others without help, though.”

Hunk and Shiro shared a long look, and then Shiro shrugged. “The Blue Lion brought us to an abandoned castle, or so we'd thought. As it turned out, there was an Altean princess, her... seneschal, I think, and some mice in cryo-pods in the basement. They'd been there since Voltron had been hidden.”

That surprised Lizenne. “Really? Princess Allura? Well, it looks like old Alfor didn't make all of the mistakes he could have. Oh, dear. You'll want to tell her that her people still live as soon as you get back to base. It'll get the temper tantrums out of the way as quickly as possible.”

Hunk had to smother a laugh, but Shiro gave their hostess a quizzical look. “Temper tantrums?”

Lizenne nodded. “Altean royalty, according to the Histories, were a remarkably responsible bunch and took their duties to their people seriously. She's going to want you to go and liberate them, quite forgetting that freeing a captive world does not end with a flashy battle in orbit. Even if you were able to chase the fleets of Galra warships out of the system, you would have to stand guard over the planet at all times to keep them from coming back. The Empire is too big; all Zarkon would have to do is to threaten some other world, and you would be forced to go and stop him; while you're off doing that, he'd destroy the Alteans utterly. He's probably holding them in reserve in order to make a trade—their lives for your Lions—and she'd fall for it, never mind that he'd simply go ahead and wipe them out anyway. She's not going to be rational about this for some time and it will probably drive a wedge between her and your team; it's better to work it out now than it would be later, when things would be much more fraught.”

Shiro nodded in agreement. “We need allies. Preferably ones with big ships and big guns. Right now, it's just us and the mice, and a race of short people with big curly horns who still use stone tools. We're in the same boat, anyway; our own home planet's at risk, too. Probably even more at risk, since we've got nowhere to go if the Galra attack.”

“Yeah. Allies would be good. Like rebel groups.” Hunk grinned and struck a pose. “Hey, Lizenne, can you tell us if there's any good rebel armies around? With laser swords and big hairy guys and some really cool fighter ships...”

Lizenne was shaking her head. “There are always small bands of desperadoes, but they're usually fighting for their own survival on just one planet. Historically, larger, better-armed and -equipped groups used to pop up about once a century, but after one of those came a little too close to assassinating him, Zarkon stopped allowing that sort of thing. These days, if any given people produce more than a given number of malcontents, that race is destroyed. We Galra have pretty much gotten used to having an eternal Emperor. The other races have learned to cope. They don't like it, however; if you can find a spacefaring race that would welcome seeing their Imperially-appointed Provincial Governor reduced to a small pile of carbon ash, then by all means oblige them. Just make very sure that they're willing to back you up on your other campaigns. A lot of them won't be, out of fear of reprisal.”

“What about the Gantarash pirates?” Shiro asked.

“Absolutely not,” Lizenne snapped. “Gantars are completely untrustworthy and will steal the Lions if you give them even the smallest opportunity. They're cannibals as well, and view the entire galaxy as their buffet lunch. Their neighboring races actually applauded Zarkon when he fire-polished their homeworld. The Shukkahs would be a better choice, or the Hurus, or better yet, the Uzuskai. I've met their Governor, and he's a classic tyrant.”

“Thanks,” Shiro said, gazing grimly at his mechanical hand. “I have to ask this and I'm sorry for having to do so, but is any of what you've just told us true?”

Lizenne smiled broadly. “An intelligent question. Very good! All of it, but you only have my word for that, of course. It's easily-enough tested. Send a long-range probe into the Altean home system and see for yourself how things are over there. Confirm all data before you trust it. You can't afford to make mistakes at this time, not while you're operating alone.”

“Yeah. By the way, just what's out there that you think is going to bust up the Empire? You've sort of been dropping hints.” Hunk gave her a hard look. “I thought you wanted Zarkon gone.”

This time, Lizenne laughed, causing one of the lizard creatures to peer curiously in through the window. Lizenne tossed it a bun and grinned fiercely at Hunk. “And another intelligent question! I am most encouraged! The Lions have chosen some good ones this time. I do indeed want Zarkon ejected from the throne, and Haggar with him. If at all possible, by the way, get rid of her first. Zarkon depends on her rather more than he should. If you can manage that, the difficulties that will follow his fall will be identifiable and solvable as his Empire falls apart without him; he has plenty of sons, only one of which is in any way suitable as an heir, you see, and I wouldn't give that fool boy fifteen minutes on the throne. If he is not defeated soon... well, there will be worse things than that. There are signs that the Emperor is going insane, and Haggar's most recent experiments have been producing things right out of a madman's worst nightmares. Gigantic monsters that can crush ships with their bare hands and destroy whole cities in one go, for example, and I've heard rumors of a device that can turn a whole world into an ashy wasteland in less than five minutes.”

Hunk shuddered. “We've met a couple of the first kind. Those were bad, but we figured out how to deal with them. I don't like the sound of the other one at all, though.”

“We need to get back,” Shiro said, pushing himself up out of his chair. “Thank you for your hospitality, Lizenne, you've been very kind, but we've got people waiting for us.”

“Naturally. You've brightened my otherwise dull day as well.” Lizenne nodded at Hunk. “Would you like the rest of the buns to take home?”

“Yes, please!” Hunk said eagerly.

 

***

 

A few minutes later, they were walking out toward the grasses again, Hunk happily clutching a large wrapped parcel under one arm. Shiro was a little annoyed with him about that, his military training making him naturally distrustful of the enemy. Still, those buns had been awfully good after weeks of Altean “food goo”, which was why he wasn't objecting too strenuously. Lizenne had gone off to find the lizards and persuade them to take the pair back to their shuttle; fifteen or twenty miles was a long way to walk through rough and trackless terrain. They paused at the edge of the yellow prairie, enjoying the afternoon sunlight and fresh air while they could. It was a nice world, Shiro mused, if you didn't mind the neighbors. A whiff of bacon on the air told him that Hunk was sneaking another snack. “I hope you got the recipe,” he said mildly.

“Yup,” Hunk replied in a slightly muffled voice. “It's really easy, too. It's gonna be great. I heard Keith say the other day that if Zarkon himself would offer to trade a BLT for Coran, he wouldn't hesitate. I think that it was the bowl of orange squilge that did it. Maybe I'll start messing around in the kitchen some more after we get back.”

Shiro chuckled. As a soldier, he knew very well the effects of a bad cook on the morale of the troops. “I'm sure that they'll appreciate it. We'll need comfort food anyway, if Allura reacts to the news as badly as I think she will.”

“Yeah,” Hunk replied grimly, “she will, too. Waking up and finding them all gone was harder on her than she's letting on. Pidge is gonna pitch a fit, too. She's only in on this so that she can find her family, and she's not going to like it if Allura starts making demands.”

“We'll work it out,” Shiro reassured him. “It'll be--”

“ _Halt, Paladins, and surrender at once!”_ The harsh command made them jump and Hunk dropped the packet of buns as the grasses around them erupted with Galra soldiers, their commander grinning triumphantly; there were too many of them to fight, and running would do no good. “On your knees, alien filth, or suffer the wrath of--”

“ _Guns down!”_ another voice cracked like a whip, and it was a moment before the two Paladins realized that it belonged to Lizenne. “Guns down, I said, and instantly! Didn't you idiots register my beacon? No trespassing, it said, research in progress, it said, and here I find you trompling around in my testing area! _Would you care to explain yourselves?”_

She was genuinely angry, and Shiro and Hunk got another shock when the Galra officer and his men dropped to their knees before her, the armored soldiers bowing their heads humbly.

“My Lady,” the officer quavered, “we did register the beacon, but we were tracking enemies of the Empire. Allow us to take these aliens away, and--”

“Mine,” she snapped in a voice that made the fellow cringe. “I was just about to run a test on them, actually, and I don't appreciate the interruption.”

“A... a test?” the officer whimpered.

“Oh, goodness, yes. Quite a good one. I'd like to see how a pair of Voltron's own would do against a pair of these.” Tilla and Soluk loomed up suddenly out of the trees, looking nowhere near as friendly as they had earlier. “Zampedri prairie dragons. Their hide's as tough as blast shielding, they can bite through the hull of a starship, and they have a venom that is instantly lethal to just about every carbon-based life form known to science. They are sensitive beasts, however, and don't like having an audience while they work. Go away.”

“Lady, please, you will doom us!” the officer begged. “Our commander told us to bring him those Paladins or die trying. He will not take no for an answer!”

Lizenne gave him a long, considering look that wilted him where he knelt. “Who is your commander?”

Sensing a way out of this mess, the officer replied quickly, “Harquin, my Lady.”

“Harquin,” Lizenne hummed consideringly. “I've heard of the man. Very well.”

Shiro and Hunk tensed in anticipation of betrayal. Lizenne surprised them again.

“You may tell him that you found me here. You will tell him that I have not seen an unauthorized spacecraft. You will tell him that I will not tolerate further interruptions of my work. You will _not_ tell him that I have the Paladins, and neither will your men. You may, however, give him this.” She stepped forward and handed him a small book. “A copy of one of my observation logs of the nearby Solar System of Dorlammin. The fourth planet from the sun is a barren, lifeless little rock, but there is a large deposit of banlekonite in the metallic state in the northeastern hemisphere. The log holds the location, topographical details, mineral strata, and prospectus for working the lode. Tell him that I've put a curse on that book, however; if he takes it from you without proper compensation for you and your men, he will go blind in both eyes, and no replacement he finds for them will function for more than a day.”

The officer's head nearly touched the ground, he bowed so low, and his troops copied his example. “You are generous, my Lady. Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Now get you gone.”

Shiro and Hunk watched in helpless amazement as the enemy fled back into the grasses, and watched the cruiser rise up into the sky not five minutes later. Lizenne sighed. “I hate having to do that,” she muttered, “it always seems so unfair.”

“Um, not to be rude or anything,” Hunk asked warily, “but are you a princess?”

Lizenne laughed, making the dragons snort and whiffle. “Worse,” she said, “I'm a woman.”

“I'm not sure I follow you.” Shiro said, eyeing her with new respect.

She smiled wryly and rubbed Tilla's chin with one hand, making the dragon hum in pleasure. “It has to do with our biology. Have you ever noticed that while you'll find Galra men all over the place, you'll hardly ever see a female? When my kind are born, they're born in job lots—up to ten cubs in a birthing, sometimes, and almost all male. They're very little, but they grow very fast. A woman might have over a hundred children in her lifetime, but she'll only have a handful of daughters. As a result, we're rare and precious, and tend to be treated like queens. As if that weren't bad enough, the boys tend to be big and strong and run together in aggressive packs. We females are much more solitary, far more studious, and every last one of us has talents that other races might call  _magic._ Every Galra female is a witch, and some are naturally better at it than others, but what it all boils down to is that what we want, we get. The male who pleases a female the most is the male who gets to be a father, see?”

Hunk was blushing furiously and trying to hide it by hunting around for the packet of buns, but Shiro nodded slowly. “That does give you an unfair advantage, doesn't it? I'm not going to complain if it gets us back home. Assuming that you will let us go home, of course.”

“Certainly, although there is that test I was going to run. Tilla? Soluk? Those interlopers are gone.”

The two dragons stepped forward with immense dignity, sniffed with the air of seasoned connoisseurs at the two Paladins, sneezed, and giggled.

Lizenne grinned. “Congratulations, you've passed. Prairie dragons are remarkably good judges of character and are a very great deal smarter than they look. Just give our guests a ride back to their ship, please, and I'll make us a fresh batch of tanrook buns. Before you go, however--” she took a small flat object out of a pocket in her tunic and handed it to Shiro, “--this is a secure-channel communicator. If you have interesting questions for me, don't hesitate to call. I may or may not be able to answer them, but I will do my best.”

“Thank you,” he said taking the device, “we won't forget this. Goodbye.”

“See you later,” Hunk said, clambering up onto Soluk's back.

“I hope so,” she murmured, watching the two riders pelting off into the grass.

 

 


	2. Conflicts of Interest

Chapter 2: Conflicts of Interest

 

It took some persuasion, but Shiro managed to get the scout shuttle back to the Castle without the damaged craft exploding or going dead, an endeavor that was made considerably simpler by the sudden absence of the Galra cruiser. Shiro absently wondered what banlekonite was, then decided that he didn't care. Whatever kept him from having to dodge enemy fire in a busted ship again was good enough for him. He set the poor old thing down in the Castle's docking bay with a sigh of relief, smelled bacon again, and swatted Hunk's knuckles before he could sneak another bun. “Save some for the others, will you? Allura's probably going to be annoyed that we don't have anything better to show for our efforts.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Hunk replied. “I've gotta wonder though, was it really a weapons cache that King Alfor meant, or was he talking about something else? There was something weird about that world, but I can't put my finger on what it was.”

Shiro hummed and popped the canopy. “I hadn't really noticed. What do you mean?”

“I don't know what I mean,” Hunk said, heaving himself out of his seat. “It was a feeling more than anything else. It's like... it's like... well, you know how there are some places back home where there were ancient civilizations? I mean _really_ ancient, like pre-Biblical. Thousands and thousands of years ago, so long ago that there isn't hardly any sign that they were there at all, and all the forests and stuff have grown back up around them. Or they're hidden in the desert. Or they've fallen into the ocean. Gone back to the wild. That sort of place.”

“I'm aware,” Shiro said, giving his teammate an interested look. “I've visited one with my family, once, near Japan.”

“Yeah,” Hunk said uneasily. “Ever notice how hardly anybody goes near those places? Other than archaeologists, I mean. It's like something from that age is still there, watching, and it doesn't really want to be disturbed. It's not like evil spirits or anything like that, it's just...” he shrugged helplessly. “Why would the Galra leave that world alone? It's nice, the place would make a good colony, it's close to their other worlds, but there's only one person there, and there was only one ship on patrol. Something's put up a sort of psychic 'No Trespassing' sign on that whole solar system. Ten thousand years is a long time, Shiro, Humans were still living in caves back then. Who or what did King Alfor meet there?”

Shiro shook his head. “I don't know.”

Solving that mystery would have to wait. When they returned to the bridge, they found themselves mobbed by anxious teammates. “Where did you go?” Allura demanded above the relieved voices of the others. “Your craft vanished once you were beyond the gas giant's orbits—none of our sensors could find you! What happened?”

“Did you find the King's cache?” Coran added. “What's that you've got there, Hunk?”

Lance sniffed the air, his expression both baffled and disbelieving. “Something smells like... bacon. Hunk, why do you smell like bacon?”

“Bacon?” Keith said, sniffed curiously, and then his eyes flashed with worrying intent. “He's right, Hunk. You smell like bacon. Where did you get bacon?”

Pidge ducked under Hunk's elbow and sniffed at the packet. “It's this thing. It's what smells like bacon.”

Hunk suddenly felt like a castaway on a desert island, only the sharks were megalodons and the island was sinking.

“Smells like tanrook buns, actually,” Coran said, sniffing with the air of a connoisseur. A bit of an acquired taste, but very popular on some of the outer colony worlds. Traditionally a Galra recipe, but there were a lot of Altean-style variations, ranging from leaving out the caprem seasoning to adding sweet fillings. Alfor used to love them.”

This failed to distract the Paladins, who were visibly drooling. “Don't care,” Lance said, “give me bacon _now.”_

Hunk had a well-developed survival instinct that was capable of spotting incipient disasters, and it was screaming warnings at him now. Seeing only one way of getting out of this situation with his skin intact, he chose the way of not being bitten and tossed the packet into the air, seizing the opportunity to leap behind one of the defense-drone stations while the others tore the packet apart. Allura, Coran, and Shiro looked on helplessly as a neatly-wrapped pile of golden-brown buns spilled forth, and were attacked by ravening teenagers. Allura shot Shiro a sidelong look and raised her voice over the chorus of _oooh-nomph-nomph-nomph-BACON_ noises. “I very much doubt that my father left baked goods as a secret weapon for us. Whatever did you find down there, Shiro?”

“A Galra warship,” Hunk said, sidling cautiously out from behind the defense-drone station. “Dragons. The nice lady who cooked those. A lot of information and advice. No zap guns or secret weapons, though, and our shuttle was too badly messed up to do any more searching. Wow, it's a good thing that I got the recipe, isn't it?”

A fight had broken out over the last bun. Allura blinked in perplexity. “Yes. What is 'bacon', and do all Humans have that reaction to it?”

“Thinly-sliced, salt-and-smoke-cured pork belly. Basically, it's meat candy, and some like it better than others.” Hunk shrugged and waved a hand at the growing argument. “We like it fine, and it's been months since we've had any. Um. Shiro, am I going to have to pour a bucket of cold water over those two?”

Keith and Lance had gotten embroiled in a furious wrestling match, unwisely, as it turned out, for their preoccupation allowed Pidge to dart in and steal the last precious treat. Both boys squawked in chagrin and grabbed at her, but she was too quick and darted away. Keith and Lance gave chase, pursuing her hotly around the room. Three times they streaked around the room without noticeably slowing down. Shiro sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward, silently entreating whatever might be listening for patience. On their next pass, he reached out with his mechanical arm and nipped the bun out of Pidge's hands, causing a noisy pile-up when she tried to turn around and grab it back, and the boys couldn't stop in time. Shiro used the time while the trio untangled themselves to tear the bun into three reasonably equal pieces, and he handed one section to each.

“Better count your fingers, Shiro,” Hunk said, watching his teammates grab at him.

Shiro flexed his battle-hand with a thin smile. “That's why I used this hand. Are you clowns done yet?”

Lance burped. “Sorry. Not really, though. _Bacon,_ Shiro.”

“I get that, but the Princess needs to know what we found down there, and it's going to be hard enough to assimilate that information without the floor show.” Shiro wilted them with a stern look, although Keith looked mulish and Pidge's eyes were defiant. “The one person living on the planet was Galra, Princess, although I don't think that she's an enemy.”

“ _What?!”_ Allura snapped, both horrified and furious. “You mean you--”

“Calm down, Princess, that's entirely possible,” Coran said soothingly, although the glare she shot him nearly set his mustache alight. “I'd met one or two of the ladies back in the day, and they were very much a law unto themselves. From what I could gather, most female Galra don't bother themselves much with the men's antics, and the men won't push the issue with 'em. There is only one girl to every ten or so boys, and the man who upsets a lady loses any chance of ever getting a girlfriend. Also having the ability to turn anybody who annoys her into a small pile of charcoal sort of helps to clear the air, so to speak.”

“Wait, you mean that all Galra women are, like, sort of mini-Haggars?” Lance asked.

“Possibly without the all-consuming evil most of the time, but I believe so, yes.” Coran replied.

“Holy crow,” Lance shuddered, remembering Sendak and trying to imagine his mother. “That explains so much.”

Shiro shot him a quelling look and asked, “You said that we vanished from the Castle's sensors?”

“You did,” Coran replied, “once past the outer rings, it was like you didn't exist. All I can guess is that there's one of those little cosmic anomalies floating about nearby. I just can't tell where it is.”

Hunk snapped his fingers. “Yeah, I saw that on our screen, but I thought it was just the rings getting in the way. It didn't hide us from a Galra patrol cruiser, and we got shot at. They nearly took out the drive, and blew the comms. If Shiro hadn't lost them in a meteor swarm, we might not have made it.”

“We never even saw them coming,” Shiro said darkly, “and it's likely that you wouldn't have heard us even if we'd been able to shout for help. We were able to make a few repairs, but were forced to stop and hide the shuttle because the cruiser hadn't given up their search. We planned to either hide until they went away or ambush them if they came down by the shuttle, but we were interrupted by a pair of locals.”

“Locals?” Allura asked. “Shiro, you said that the only person there was a Galra.”

Hunk grinned and whispered conspiratorially, “Here There Be Dragons.”

Coran brightened up instantly. “Dragons? Zampedri prairie dragons? Great big chaps, sort of golden-tan, six blue eyes, smarter than they look, and spikier than a Lumborkan tidliwhacker?”

“That's them,” Hunk said. “They'd made friends with Lizenne—that's the Galra lady, and gave us a ride to her place. It was a lot like riding in the Lions, but pricklier. Boy, am I glad that we were wearing our armor.”

Coran pulled at his mustache. “You're very lucky. From what my Grandfather told me, those big lads can be very dangerous if they don't like the smell of you, but they're excellent judges of character and can be quite loyal to their friends. He swore that they understood every word he said.”

“Did they say anything?” Lance asked.

Coran shrugged. “They said _'gronk'._ Loudly, and usually after sneaking up behind him, just to see him jump. Dragons have senses of humor, unfortunately, and they love to play pranks.”

“We didn't see that side of them, thankfully,” Shiro continued. “Lizenne recognized us almost immediately—not _us,_ but the armor—and it didn't bother her. She's not a fan of the Emperor, and had some very good reasons for that.”

Even the Princess was forced to concede as Shiro detailed their discussion. Her own training in governance and diplomacy had included extensive examples from not only Altean history but several of their neighbors of what happened when an oppressed population had decided that it had had enough. The hints that Zarkon was becoming unstable and the undeniable reality of the Robeasts were also worrying. Shiro watched her carefully throughout his report, then mentally braced himself for the worst and told her that her people hadn't gone extinct after all.

Allura's and Coran's faces lit up like searchlights with astonishment and delight at the news. “A colony? Where? Which one? Did she say?” Allura demanded.

“She didn't,” Shiro said, holding up a warning hand, “and the Empire's keeping them under close guard. The entire planet's being kept inside a force shield, and it's heavily-patrolled at all times.”

“If she's telling the truth, we must free them,” Allura declared, “I _will not_ leave my people under the thumb of that tyrant. Coran, access the Empire's star charts and cross-check them against the Castle's list of Altean colonies. Find them!”

“Right away, Princess!” Coran said, springing to his console, the screens coming up with a swarm of images.

Shiro knew better than to interrupt; if Lizenne had indeed been telling the truth, then they would need to know where that last colony was anyway. If the Alteans had managed to hold on to any of their technological expertise at all, then they might be able to tell them a little more of what the Lions could and couldn't do. For now, however, he watched with the others as the screens flickered with image after image of burned-out and smashed planets, moons, and space stations, all dead and long-dead. The sheer scale of the destruction made Shiro go cold inside; the various militaries of Earth had no weapons that could do that, and he couldn't help but remember that his homeworld was one Imperial decree from sharing Altea's fate.

Finally, Coran let out a triumphant, “Aha! I think I've found it. All the others were listed, Princess, but one and one alone isn't in the Imperial database at all. Not the public version, anyway. There isn't even a chart for that area. Here—the Altean colony of Quolothis. A fairly new settlement at that time, and very close to the Empire's then-current borders. Let's see... take galactic drift into account, speed up the clock a good ten millennia or so... should be over there. I think that we might still have a few functional long-range probes. Shall I check?”

“Do that,” Allura commanded, staring hungrily at the screens.

Shiro stole a glance at his teammates. Hunk was staring in mild horror at the screens full of broken planets. Lance had a considering expression that told Shiro that he was imagining the sort of welcome that a conquering hero might receive. Keith was frowning in concentration, probably trying to work out if Voltron would be able to handle that sort of challenge, and Pidge...

Oh, God, Pidge. Their resident half-pint genius had already calculated their odds of freeing that colony, found them low, and then extrapolated the huge problem of keeping it free. She was also miffed that Allura had apparently forgotten her own ongoing search for her father and brother, if her expression was anything to go by. Shiro had seen those honey-amber eyes glinting like that before, and wished that he wasn't the only responsible adult in the group.

“Yes, yes, we've two that are still up to the task, and we're within range of the place,” Coran said. “Going to have to check over the others, but that can happen later. Shall we send one off?”

Allura leaped onto the pilot's dais. “I'll open a portal for it. Tell me where.”

Coran rattled off a string of coordinates, and the team watched as a small shining device launched and disappeared down the watery blue circle of a wormhole. A handful of minutes later, and it never ceased to amaze Shiro how quickly these alien starcraft could traverse unimaginable distances, the main screen lit up with a tumbling view of unfamiliar stars. Coran made a few adjustments and the image stabilized and began to pan around. Everybody gasped when the image focused in on a nearby planet. It was a rough sphere, ridged here and there with mountain chains that glistened like crystals, the valleys leading down onto broad plains and forests, a pair of oceans shining like turquoise under the light of the local sun. Even from so far away, cities were visible along the threads of rivers and on the shores of those distant seas. What was also clearly visible was the shifting glimmer of the force-bubble that locked it away from the rest of the universe. Great fleets of ships like shoals of metallic purple fish surrounded it, as well as the larger structures of orbital stations. Just as Lizenne had said, the Alteans were alive, but they were going nowhere.

Abruptly, a wall of dark purple hullplate obscured their view of the captive world, and the image dissolved in a flare of pale-purple brilliance; the probe had been destroyed.

“They're alive,” Allura whispered into the silence of the bridge, her face the very picture of hope, tears of joy streaming down the faces of both Alteans. “They're alive. We must free them! Ready the Lions, Paladins, we are going to--”

“No.”

Coran choked and Allura gurgled in outrage, whirling around to face them, suddenly furious. “What did you say, Shiro?”

Shiro did not bat an eye at her ominous tone. “I said no. Hear me out, Princess; we can't do that. Not now.”

“Your reasons had better be good,” Coran said stiffly. “Allura may still have family living there. Their descendents, anyway.”

Pidge shifted angrily, but Shiro laid a hand on her shoulder to forestall the explosion and began ticking reasons off on his fingers. “I do. One: we aren't skilled enough with the Lions, or with Voltron to take on a force like that.

“Two: even if we were, we'd need allies as backup. We only have three at the moment—one that's still using stone-age technology, and one that _is_ stone-age technology.

“Three: Quolothis is deep in Galran territory, where backup—for them—is seconds away, and Zarkon himself might decide to crash the party. We're _really_ not ready to face him yet.

“Four: even if we did manage to chase those fleets out of the system and bring down that force field, we'd be stuck there permanently afterward, trying to protect it on our own. I didn't see any aircraft over those cities, Princess, and they won't have starcraft either, and they won't have been permitted any defenses of their own.”

“We can't just leave them!” Allura wailed, but the Paladins weren't impressed.

Pidge made a rude noise. “Sure we can. They're safe right now. In jail, but safe. Unlike my family, which you've forgotten about again. When were we going to look for them, Allura? Every time I've gotten a lead, I keep getting called away from it, and I'm sick of it!”

“We need more time,” Hunk said with unusual firmness. “We can't do it alone. I'm sorry, Princess, but you're trying to write checks that we can't pay.”

“We need allies,” Keith agreed. “A lot of allies. Did you bother to count how many ships were guarding that one planet? There were roughly two hundred visible from that angle alone. We've handled how many so far? It's too soon.”

Lance shook his head. “I hate to say it, but they're right. This isn't some superhero vid show where the good guys always win. This is real life, and I'd sort of like to continue living it.”

“This is mutiny,” Allura snarled, eyes flashing in anger.

“This is survival,” Shiro snapped. “If you take us there now, you will be handing Voltron over to the Empire on a silver platter. If that happens, we're all dead. None of us signed up for suicide.”

“We didn't sign up for this at all!” Pidge growled. “The blue Lion kidnapped us! I'm still here because this is the best chance I've got of finding Matt and Dad. The justice and heroism is nice, but it's secondary. Don't make me hack the ship's computer, Allura. I am not wasting my time on that planet.”

Allura was a Princess, and was not used to being defied. She drew herself up to her full height and fixed them all with a withering glare. “So I see,” she said in a voice that lowered the temperature in the room at least twenty degrees. “Do not think that I will forget this. We _will_ free my people eventually, however, even if I have to pilot the Lions myself.”

Without waiting for a reply, she swept regally out of the room with her nose both in the air and out of joint at the same time.

“Well, now you've done it,” Coran said grumpily. “She'll be upset for days. The air turns to pure poison around her when she's like this.”

“Yeah, Lizenne said that she'd do something like this,” Hunk sighed, scratching thoughtfully at his stomach. “Smart lady. I think you'd like her. Oh, right, I almost forgot. C'mere, Coran, I want to check something.”

Coran approached him with curiosity, only to have his nose and chin seized in a pair of hands that only looked soft, and his mouth pried wide open. He squawked and flailed, which made the others struggle to quash bursts of laughter, but was unable to pull away.

“And that's another thing that she was right about,” Hunk said, peering at Coran's teeth, then let go and grasped the furious Altean firmly by the arm. “You did evolve in a swamp, didn't you? Come on, you show me how the kitchen really works, and I'll teach you the magic that is crunchiness.”

 

***

 

Emperor Zarkon shifted in his throne, gazing at the terrified soldier with cold, pale eyes. “I fail to see where the two connect,” he said, his soft, deep voice ominous in its very mildness. “You were sent to patrol that system for the purpose of teaching your men how to deal with anomalous space, and yet you come back with a claim on a planet orbiting a completely different sun. While the lode of rare minerals will delight the industrialists, I dislike this disregard you have for your orders. Why were you in that system, Commander Harquin?”

Commander Harquin swallowed hard and flinched slightly when something shifted in the shadows by the throne. A slight, hunched figure shrouded in dark robes stood there, and its head lifted to stare at him out of golden eyes that glowed eerily in the dark space beneath the hood. Haggar. The most powerful witch as well as the most powerful woman in the Empire, and she had a nasty reputation. “We saw an unauthorized craft between the third and fourth planets. A small shuttle of unknown origin, and tried to capture it. The pilot managed to elude us, but we tracked it down to the surface of the third planet. I sent Sergeant Pelriss down with a squad to retrieve it.”

“And they found?” Zarkon asked mildly.

“A witch, my Lord,” Harquin replied, “conducting research. We'd registered her warn-off beacon, but that entire System is restricted—no aliens allowed, and only certain Lineages have permission to visit any of those planets. Something about hereditary rights-of-way, I think. I didn't want anyone to disturb her, so I told Pelriss to be quick and quiet about it.”

“What witch was this?” Haggar asked in her dry, insinuating voice.

Harquin dipped a slight, apologetic bow in her direction. “She did not give her name, Lady Haggar. Pelriss describes her as a native of Galran Prime, and that she had a civilian-grade Saranto cluster-ship. She also had the aliens, and traded the location of the banlekonite lode for the right to keep them. Pelriss said that she wanted to run experiments on them, and she didn't want him and his men around while she performed them. He said that a pair of large predatory animals were involved.”

“Is that so?” Haggar said, and her smile made trickles of ice creep down his spine. “He did not give you further details?”

Harquin remembered how reluctant Pelriss had been to speak further. He should have pressed for more detail, but the unclaimed mineral resources had been too tempting. “No, Lady Haggar.”

There was a _hmph_ from the Throne. “You should not have let greed cloud your thinking. Summon Sergeant Pelriss. You shall both aid Haggar in her inquiries.”

Harquin begged for mercy as the Sentries dragged him away, Haggar following along with that anticipatory smile on her face that he knew so well. Zarkon didn't bother to watch, or to listen. No matter how many times this happened, they never seemed to learn, he mused, save for a very few. Speaking of such...

He lifted a finger to summon an aide, which appeared as if by magic at his side. “How does Sendak's recovery progress?”

“Within expectations, my Lord,” the aide replied quietly. “Having been kept in stasis helped. Haggar has already prepared a new arm for him, and will attach it when he's strong enough.”

“Good. Obtain the logs from Harquin's ship and send a search-and-recover team to the second-to-last destination. I want more information on that unknown shuttle.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

 

***

 

That team didn't find much. They found a large area of crushed vegetation where a large ship had rested among the trees, and a smaller, scorched spot approximately eighteen miles away in the tall grasses where a damaged craft had come down, and then taken off again. Fragments of broken hullplate were found, and the alloys were identified as Altean in origin. Of far more note to the search-and-recover team was the local wildlife, which was large, spiky, and went _gronk,_ often right behind someone when they least expected it. They were also very fast and could indeed bite right through armor plate—and Sentries—but the team fled the planet before anyone was required to gauge the strength of their venom.

Haggar obtained better information, although it pleased both her and the Emperor rather less.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and questions always loved and welcomed!


	3. Knowledge Is Power...Whether You Want It Or Not

Chapter 3: Knowledge Is Power... Whether You Want It Or Not

 

Lizenne, in the meantime, had decided that some study needed to be done in a more civilized setting. Given the sheer number of inhabited worlds in the galaxy, the choices that the Lions had made in their pilots this time were remarkable. She needed information on this unknown planet with its unknown race. Why had they chosen five individuals from a single world, and from a people that had not yet emerged on the interstellar stage? What was it about that particular race that interested Voltron's group consciousness so? In truth, the impressions that she'd gotten from the two who had visited her were varied and interesting, but by no means conclusive. They were too small a sample, to put it simply. Lizenne wondered if she should visit that planet to get a better taste for their character. _Hearts and minds,_ she thought absently as she dug through the main Archive of Parzurak SpaceHab, which had been the closest site of so large a library. A risk, yes, but a calculated one, and she was fully capable of taking care of herself. “Hearts and minds,” she muttered aloud, her fingers tapping on the keys, “something that we've lost the knack of looking for, for the most part. A bit of a mistake, that, and a huge blind spot. That's tyranny for you.”

It certainly was. It also fed into one of her pet lines of study, one that she didn't often have much opportunity to advance due to lack of source material. The reemergence of Voltron was a magnificent opportunity in so many different ways...

“Lizenne,” a harsh voice spoke up behind her, “I knew that I would find you here. What have you been up to, girl?”

Lizenne turned and saw a woman who wore heavy robes, her narrow, fine-boned face tattooed with a pair of blood-red streaks below the eyes. The younger woman dipped a little curtsy for tradition's sake, but made no other signs of respect. Haggar had taken an interest in Lizenne's family roughly six or seven hundred years ago, and Lizenne's mother frankly idolized the woman. Lizenne herself had grown up completely without any liking for, or fear of, the ancient witch, a fact that had driven her mother to tears on more than one occasion, and had resulted in numerous scoldings. Haggar herself did not approve of Lizenne's willfulness, but had not yet decided to teach her a lesson in humility; the Ghurap'Han Lineage was too powerful to annoy lightly, even for someone like Haggar, and Haggar had reasons of her own for holding back. That didn't stop Lizenne from occasionally pushing the envelope, however.

“Studying, Haggar,” Lizenne replied sweetly, “it's a thing I like to do now and again.”

The old witch's eyes narrowed dangerously, an expression that had dampened many a trouser in the past. It did not noticeably shake the younger woman's air of ironic humor. “Studying _what,_ exactly? You've been spotted in odd places, and in odd company. Where are those Paladins?”

Lizenne sighed. “They're wherever they are when they're not on duty, of course. I never saw their ship, Haggar. I was busy.”

“That is not the same as not having seen the pilots!” Haggar snapped angrily. “The information my Druids extracted from that greedy idiot of a soldier--”

“Is suspect, since any confession acquired under duress cannot be counted on to be accurate.” Lizenne gave the older witch a hard glare. “I've seen what your pets get up to. Any victim of theirs will say anything at all to get them to stop playing with him and you know it. Did you break down those soldiers for spare parts as well? I hope not. It's a shameful waste of personnel. If it gets you out of my hair sooner, then yes, I did see them. It was too good an opportunity to study them to waste.”

“ _Study_ them?” Haggar snarled. “What line of study could you possibly pursue with those filthy, thieving primitives?”

Lizenne gave her an arch smile. “Heroism, Haggar. It's a very interesting field of study. Neither of those two boys were anything out of the ordinary until the Lions gathered them up. And yes, I let them go.”

Haggar hissed, eyes flashing. She came a few steps closer, sparks flaring from her fingertips in her fury. “You let them go. How dare you? You betray your Emperor and your people by doing so!”

Lizenne sighed. “I'm as loyal to him and them as I have ever been. He won't be happy until he's faced them himself, the whole team of them together. Heroes are rare, and he desires the challenge they present to him because they are the best test of his own strength. What greater triumph is there, than to defeat a foe that has scattered all others before it?”

“Fool child! The Emperor _is_ a hero!”

“ _Was_ one.” Lizenne stared the ancient witch right in the eye without flinching. “Long ago. Now he is the lord and master of all he surveys, and what has it brought him? Power, yes, plenty of that. His smallest deeds are mighty. Fear, certainly. Whole civilizations live in terror of him and tremble at the sound of his name. Respect? Goodness, yes; none will gainsay his decrees. Fame? No one is more widely-known than the Eternal Emperor, but he hasn't been a hero since he took the throne. Neither have you, I might add, although you played a similar role to your current one during the Sisterhood War. Neither of you have exactly encouraged heroism in either our race or in any of our subject races, so I'm perfectly willing to buck the rules a bit if it gets me a little more data. A dead hero is useless from a scientific standpoint—it's just a pile of meat. You've seen enough of those pass through your lab and into the charnel pits. Wasted.”

Haggar's hands blurred through a quick series of gestures, firing a crackling ball of purple-black light that impacted against Lizenne's chest. She shrieked and folded up around the blow, slumping to the floor against the information terminal and clutching at her breast.

“Wasted, were they?” Haggar snarled, “Nothing of the sort. I learned much from each defeated hero and removed threats to the Empire while I was at it. You think to challenge me one day, do you? I will welcome that day of defiance, girl, and I will learn from your corpse as well.” One clawed hand reached down and stroked Lizenne's head almost gently. “I will make sure to study you very closely indeed.”

Laughing scornfully, Haggar turned and strode away, confident that Lizenne did not have the strength to mount a counterattack.

Lizenne waited until she was gone, then straightened up, a ball of purple malice clutched in one fist. She examined the sputtering orb critically, and then extinguished it with a breath. “Challenge you, Godmother?” Lizenne chuckled and pulled herself to her feet. “Not hardly. Not directly, and not without backup. You're still the strongest of us, but you lack finesse, and you've focused too much on one line of research. It'll be ever so much easier to arrange things so that you wind up destroying yourself.” Turning back to the terminal's display, she growled under her breath, “I'll see you and your Emperor curbed and brought to heel if I have to declare  _kheshveg_ against the whole damned Empire.”

 

Later, she returned to her ship in a thoughtful frame of mind. Earth, or what the Empire knew of the place, hinted at a remarkable people. One that was startlingly similar to her own in some ways while being wildly different in others. They had so much sheer variety! Hundreds of cultures, all of them distinct, and all of them remembering older, ancestral ones, and yet all of them very much that of a single race. No wonder the Lions had drawn on just that one planet for pilots! If that race ever got out among the stars in their own right, they would baffle and awe civilizations far older than their entire species. Lizenne knew that she would absolutely have to visit that planet, and soon—she needed more data, much more, and before any trigger-happy idiot could stomp in and contaminate it. First, however, she needed an excuse. Needling Haggar might have been enjoyable, but it had been self-indulgent. The old bat would be watching her now, and would interfere if Lizenne moved too obviously. Or, of course, Lizenne could field-test a few aetheric mods that she'd been working on...

Her fingers tapped the code on the keypad habitually, almost without her conscious direction, and the hatch slid smoothly back to allow her in. Automatically, she keyed the system that checked for surveillance devices; interestingly, nothing fizzled or exploded. That meant that Haggar had probably planted something on her that wasn't physical, drat her. Well, Lizenne had the cure for that.

A more pleasant surprise met her when she entered the big common lounge and found Modhri up and about, finishing up the assembly of a portable scanner. “Ah! My Lady!” he greeted her with an eager smile, “See, I've finished it.”

She came over and tried the controls, which worked perfectly. He'd made real progress. “Very good! Well done. Your dexterity's just about back to normal, isn't it?”

“Almost,” he admitted, rubbing at his fingers. “I had some trouble with my left hand until I worked the stiffness out, and my shoulders ache. But I can walk without the cane, now.”

She rubbed his back, feeling the knobs and beams of his spine and ribs. It would be a long time before he built up enough muscle to cover those bones properly again, but he was a willing patient and would do his best. More importantly, he was in full control of his own mind now. “Care to show me? You need to present yourself to the dragons one more time, and so do I.”

Modhri groaned. He knew what it meant if the big reptiloids disapproved of him again, but he looked up at her in concern that she might not be acceptable either. “What happened?”

“Haggar showed up while I was in the library, and we had a little talk.” Lizenne snorted. “Impossible creature. She equates fear with respect, and doesn't like it when people won't give her either. Oh, she showed me her displeasure, all right; I blocked that, but I had to let her pat me on the head.”

He grimaced and pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. “I'll bring the first-aid kit.”

They went slowly. Modhri was much surer on his feet than he had been, but he couldn't move very fast. He'd healed well from the grafting procedures, but he would need more practice in balancing on his new legs before he could think about speed. Still, he refused to prop himself up on her shoulder, placing his feet carefully and concentrating on maintaining a smooth stride. Fortunately, it wasn't a long walk to the lift-shaft, and he kept his balance well when it lowered them to the recreational deck. Lizenne smiled to see that the environmental systems had transformed the huge open area into a nice little slice of Zampedri prairie. She hadn't brought the two dragons along for her own amusement, oh no. They'd insisted on coming, seeking excitement and adventure in the stars beyond their home sky. Since their many talents included being able to detect and pinpoint bad magic, she'd been happy to have them along.

A large stone bench near the door allowed Modhri some rest. The short walk had left him sweating with the effort, and she could tell that his muscles were aching. Soluk and Tilla appeared out of the tall grasses like ghosts, and Lizenne made a mental note to find out just how they could walk so quietly on their big clawed feet. They seemed pleased to see Modhri again, at least. “Your opinion is needed again, my friends,” she murmured, “and check me, too, please.”

Soluk did the honors for Modhri, whiffling him all over while the man sat very still on the bench. The dragons made him a little nervous, and Lizenne couldn't blame him. Every other time he'd done this, he'd had to have something pulled very painfully out of his body. Thankfully, this time Soluk vented his delicate little sneeze and high-pitched giggle. Modhri smiled in relief and rubbed Soluk's nose. “Clean. At last.”

“Good. Haggar will never control you again,” Lizenne said, just as relieved as he was. “My turn. If you would, Tilla.”

Tilla repeated the process, sniffing with great energy at the top of Lizenne's head before venting a vicious hiss. “Damn,” Lizenne said, sitting down next to Modhri, “this is going to hurt. Disinfectant at the ready, please, and a painkiller.”

Modhri popped open the kit and laid out the appropriate medications. Lizenne began to chant quietly under her breath, the odd syllables hanging almost visibly in the air before a fat purple spark erupted from her scalp with a  _crack_ and a whiff of scorched hair.  _“Ouch! Tajvek_ that old crone!”

Modhri smiled and applied the disinfectant, handing her a pill between wipes. “That's not physically possible, you know.”

Lizenne growled, reaching up to run her fingers over the scorchmark on her scalp and coming away with tufts of charred fur. “I'll hex her with three  _solpesks,_ and then  _tajvek_ will not only be possible but inevitable. Thank you, Modhri. Was that all of them, Tilla?”

This time the sniffing-over resulted in a sneeze and a giggle.

“Just the one,” Lizenne said, “she was trying to scare me. That would have caused all sorts of bad dreams, and eventually hallucinations. Easily enough broken, but she had to have had it prepared beforehand. I worry her, I think.”

“As well you should,” Modhri replied easily, applying a coat of quick-heal to the burn. “You are plotting her downfall, after all.”

Lizenne chuckled wickedly. “Damn straight, and she knows it. She just can't pinpoint how I'm going about it. To be fair, I'm not sure either. As good as I am at aetheric sciences, scrying is not one of my strong points. Hah. To be fair, nobody can see the future with any clarity right now. Voltron's reactivation has muddled everything up!”

He sighed. “I'm very glad that I won't have to fight that thing.”

“Oh? Your oath--”

Modhri thumped a fist on the bench. “No. I gave my oath to the Emperor when I entered training. I gave it again when I completed it, and again when I was given command of my ship. For honoring my oath, I was cast down by the Emperor himself and nearly destroyed. He has no claim on me now. Instead, I offer it to you. You alone, you who are willing to expend so much effort on a shattered and half-mad lab reject.”

She lifted a hand and stroked his face, running her fingers through the long fur around his ear. “I accept, of course. I promise to do my best not to get you killed.”

“That's more than Zarkon promised me,” Modhri muttered quietly, leaning into that caress. He might have continued in that vein, but something in Lizenne's pocket chimed. “What?”

“That was fast,” Lizenne said, taking a small, very high-end communicator out of her pocket.

Modhri stared curiously at the device. She'd told him about that unusual visit, and listened in fascinated silence when she pressed the “accept” button.

“I'm here,” she said pleasantly, “greetings, and is all well?”

“ _Could be better, could be worse,”_ Shiro's voice came clearly through the speaker, although there was no image; these particular devices were audio-only. _“Allura's not happy, but she accepts that we can't do anything about her people's situation right now. She's not too sure about you either.”_

“That's only to be expected,” Lizenne said calmly. “Considering what happened between her people and ours all those years ago, I would be very surprised if she wasn't suspicious.”

“ _I'm going to have to get the whole story of that at some point,”_ Shiro muttered. _“Would you mind doing us a favor?”_

“If it's within my power. Your little visit has come to the attention of certain people, and I need to move carefully for a little while.”

“ _Sorry about that. When we were... recruited, I suppose you could say, it was a little sudden. Some of us have family back home who are doubtless worrying about us. We don't dare contact them from here in case the Galra intercept it, so we've recorded our messages on data chips. And included a translated manual for the reader. Coran tends to forget that we can't read Altean.”_

“And you need a courier.”

“ _Yes. Do you know where our world is?”_

“I found it in the Archives. It's a nice place, isn't it? Where, exactly, should I receive the message packet, and where should I deliver it?”

There was a faint sigh of relief from the communicator. _“We'll leave a note in the packet with the address. I'll let you use your own judgment in how best to make the delivery. Historically, our governments have put a lot of effort into convincing the public that aliens don't exist. I think that it's about time that they were proven wrong, especially since we're on the Emperor's shortlist for invasion. As for the pickup point, are you familiar with... drat. Pidge, what are those coordinates again? Thanks. ZOR-669-22-7.38?_

“Panipur's Rock,” Lizenne said, “largely considered to be the most boring spot in civilized space. Nice choice. What's the time frame?”

“ _Eighteen to twenty-four standard Altean hours. Wait another six or seven hours after that to pick it up so that we can get clear of the area.”_

“Very good. I may wait a little longer than that, since I'm at a considerable distance from there.”

“ _That's just as well. Oh, and Hunk says hello and thanks for the recipe for those buns. Oh._ Everyone _says thanks for the recipe._

“They're welcome,” Lizenne said with a smile.

“ _They certainly are, believe me. Incidentally... um, how is Modhri doing?”_

“He's up and about now, and well on his way to recovery. Tilla and Soluk send their love, by the way.”

Tilla chirped agreeably, and there was a brief laugh from the other side.  _“They're good dragons. Tell Modhri that I'm sorry for busting him up. Right, I've got to go if we're going to get that packet set out for you. Talk to you later.”_

“Good luck, Paladins,” Lizenne said, and cut the connection.

The two Galra sat there in thoughtful silence for a few minutes. Modhri rubbed absently at his left arm, where not so long ago a mechanical claw had been cracked from hinge to elbow by a well-placed strike from a battle-arm. “He cares,” the recovering warrior muttered wonderingly.

“They do. It's both a glaring weakness and a source of unbelievable strength.” Lizenne smiled as she put the communicator away. “Neither Zarkon nor Haggar will be able to understand that.”

“Or Sendak,” Modhri said with a sly look at Lizenne. “Perhaps we'll get lucky and they'll get that maniac out of your hair for good.”

Lizenne made a rude noise. She had no love for the Emperor's favorite henchman, and for very good reasons. She hadn't been at all sorry to hear that his ship had been lost on a mission out to one of the fringe worlds, although it didn't surprise her that the survivors of whatever had smashed the heavy cruiser had recovered him alive shortly afterward in a neighboring star system. Injured, his battle-arm ruined, and trapped in a damaged stasis pod, but alive.

“If I had the luck of three planets, my friend, it wouldn't be enough to get that creature off of my trail. I may have to turn parts of him into something nasty at some point.”

Modhri shook his head. “Haggar's beaten you to that.”

“Truth. Let's get to the bridge. I'll plot our course if you'll run checks on the shuttles. We've an errand to run.”

Modhri gave her a wry smile and heaved himself carefully to his feet. “Lurch. I can't run yet. Do you think that they'll send a probe to watch us?”

Lizenne's teeth flashed in a grin as she wrapped an arm around his waist, partly in affection, and partly to steady him. “Of course. I'd be disappointed in them if they didn't.”

 

A couple of days later, Shiro was lurking in one of the craters of a large asteroid, watching as a large ship that looked like a cluster of blue eggs approached Panipur's Rock. The Rock itself wasn't much to look at, being an irregular lump of stone roughly four or five miles across, but it was the biggest thing out here. Other than that, there was nothing interesting about this tiny, out-of-the-way solar system at all. Its sun was a minuscule, cool cinder of a red dwarf and clouds of dust and small asteroids obscured the view of the stars; there was just enough cover out here to conceal the Castle, but that was the end of its utility. Even from here, he could see the tiny green beacon light that Pidge had rigged onto their packet.

The egg-cluster ship slipped out of sight behind one of the dust clouds and vanished. A few minutes later, a small, egg-shaped pod jetted over and landed gently on the Rock, disgorging a single suited figure who retrieved the message packet and departed promptly back the way it had come.

“She's got it,” Shiro said quietly into his helmet-comm.

“ _So we see,”_ Coran's voice replied in a conspiratorial whisper. _“Long-range probe's locked onto her ship and is ready to go. Think she'll read our mail?”_

“I don't know,” Shiro said, squinting at the dust cloud as the big ship behind it began to move. “So long as it gets back to Earth, does it matter? I'm more worried that she might alter the recordings.”

“ _Not a chance of that,”_ Coran said cheerfully. _“That was a permanent-message recorder. Nothing short of hitting it with a laser-axe will erase or alter anything recorded on it. Launching the probe now.”_

Shiro looked up and saw the faint glint of the probe among the tumbling asteroids, only visible because he knew it would be there. As he watched, it changed its course to follow Lizenne's ship at a healthy distance, and vanished into hyperspace along with it. Shiro sighed and headed back to his Lion, which had been tucked into another crater nearby. He wondered, as he settled back into the pilot's seat, whether or not it was wise to trust that woman, and what sort of ally she might turn out to be. Hunk liked her, and that was a point in her favor for Hunk was rarely wrong in his judgments. Coran's assertions that the dragons wouldn't tolerate unsavory characters was another. On the other hand, she was Galra and possibly a clever enemy. On the third hand—and technically he did have three now—not one thing she had told them had been anything less than the truth. Hopefully, the probe would tell them more.

Keith met him by the hangar door when he dismounted a little time later, offering him a beverage packet that he took with a nod of thanks. The air that the suit provided him with was good, but dry, and he drank deeply. “Probe working okay?” he asked.

Keith shrugged. “We won't be sure until it comes out of hyperdrive. The fact that it works at all after ten thousand years is pretty impressive. Pidge and Hunk are having a look at the others right now. Coran says that it'll be a while before it gets to Earth in any case—we really are in a galaxy far, far away.”

Shiro puffed a laugh and began to remove his armor, Keith moving to help him with the tricky catches under the backplates. “And the Empire's even bigger and more evil in real life than in the movies. I get the feeling that we arrived rather late in the game.”

“Got that right,” Keith said, helping him arrange the armor on the mechanism that would clean, recharge, and take it to its ready station. I'm heading up to the bridge. I want to be there when the probe comes out.”

Shiro heard the homesickness in the boy's voice. Feeling much the same way, he draped a comforting arm around Keith's shoulders. “Sounds like a good idea. Mind if I keep you company?”

“Happy to have it.”

They arrived on the bridge to find Coran and Allura there, discussing something in low voices while Lance dozed in one of the defense-drone stations. Pidge and Hunk arrived a few minutes later, talking technology. “--pretty sure it was that loose green thingy,” Hunk was saying, “but it could have been all that fuzzy stuff in that part that looked like an eggbeater. Were you able to figure out the manual?”

“A little,” Pidge said with a scowl. “It's a good thing that whoever wrote it included really good diagrams. Altean is a tricky language, and I'm pretty sure that they use sound forms that we don't. One of these days, I'm going to have to hunt up the universal translator program and find out what makes it tick.”

Hunk nodded. “Yeah. Weird, isn't it, how they've got one for spoken words, but not for written ones? I'm going to have to see if I can... oh, hey, Shiro. Everything go okay?”

“It went fine,” Shiro replied. “The packet was picked up, just as we'd arranged. We're just waiting for them to get there. Did you find out what was wrong with the other probes?”

Hunk shrugged. “Age. Even when stuff is packed properly, it still ages off.”

“Things come loose under their own weight, little bits of dust and loose micro-organisms evolve into something that likes that environment, and some materials go brittle and crack.” Pidge spread her arms out and indicated the entire ship. “I'm surprised that anything on this ship still works at all. How long is an Altean year when compared to an Earth year anyway?”

“I'm not the one to ask,” Shiro said, gazing up at the blank screens above the console.

Eventually, Coran spoke up. “Ah! They're almost there. Reentry into normal space in three... two... one... there! Now then, does that look familiar? Nice-looking place. Lovely rings your planet's got.”

Lance awoke with a snort and squinted at the screen. “What're you talking about? That's Saturn. Humanity couldn't live there if it tried. Some of the moons are pretty cool, though.”

Coran fiddled with the controls. “Hmm, yes. Looks like they arrived a goodly ways out. Oh, now that's a nice gas giant! Look at those stripes!”

“Jupiter,” Keith said. “Uninhabitable, but I think that there were talks about setting up a research station on Ganymede or Europa ... hey, there it is! I wonder how they wrangled the funding for it.”

“I'm sure they thought of something,” Coran said cheerfully. “If nothing else, catching the Treasurer in a headlock and twisting his ear always worked for Alfor. All right, you've got a nice thick asteroid belt there... hmm, plenty of iridium. Ever think of mining that?”

Shiro waved a dismissive hand. “Earth's governments have been arguing about it for years. So far, we've been concentrating on the rocks that come too close to home for comfort, and that's enough for now.”

“I suppose,” Coran said dubiously. “And that would be the place, right? A little small, I should say, unless you're a subterranean bunch.”

“That's Mars. We've got a station there, but that's it,” Pidge said with a grin. “It really upset some people to find out that the only organisms living there were anaerobic bacteria. Humans had been hoping that someone was living up there for hundreds of years, and some people are still sure that there's a secret civilization of Martians somewhere on the planet.”

“I hope not,” Coran said absently, making a few adjustments to the controls. “When we Alteans were first exploring our solar system, we found two. The space mice, who we got along with very well, and another bunch on the next planet out that thought we were tasty. After the first few diplomatic missions wound up as brunch, we left that planet alone. Mars looks a bit harsh to spawn anything friendly. Ah, now _that_ looks more like it!”

There was a soft sigh of pleasure from the Paladins at the sight of the blue world shining like a jewel in the screens, and Allura glanced around at their fond, yearning expressions. She could not help but feel envious of them, for her own beloved homeworld was gone, destroyed, and lost forever. How she envied them for that simple sphere of a world!

“That's Earth,” Hunk said, homesickness naked in his voice. “I wish that we were there. Hey, you can see the Great Wall of China from here.”

Allura peered at the thin, pale line that snaked its way across a healthy stretch of one continent. “That's a very large wall. What was it for?”

“A bunch of things,” Lance said, leaning back in his seat. “Keeping the Mongols out. Keeping the Chinese in. Getting rid of people that the Emperor of China didn't like. Guarding the Silk Road. These days, it's used as a tourist trap. Believe it or not, it was built before anyone had invented a working steam engine. Every brick was laid by hand.”

“That's a lot of bricks,” Allura observed.

Lizenne's ship, which had been visible as a rounded blue shadow in one corner of the screen, surged ahead at that point, heading for the other side of the globe. The probe followed, and then came to a halt when the egg-cluster ship found itself a parking orbit above the Pacific Ocean. It then proceeded to do nothing at all for some time.

“What's she doing?” Keith asked.

“Not sure,” Coran replied, fiddling with the controls again. “Could be that she's taking scans, or accessing the local newsnets. She might just be letting your own astronomers get a good look at her. Fair's fair, after all. Haven't your lot met any other people yet?”

“No,” Shiro said grimly. “As far as most of Humanity is concerned, we're the only intelligent people out there. Well, except for those who believe that we're being visited regularly by bald gray or green aliens with big black eyes. No formal contacts yet, though.”

Coran hummed thoughtfully. “Sounds like the Abrilmens to me. Like to make pretty patterns in grain fields, do they? Or do nasty things to large domestic animals?”

Startled, the Paladins could only nod. “Yeah,” Lance said, “and urban legend has them doing some weird things with anal probes--”

“Yeah, that's them. Their juveniles can be a terrible nuisance to the locals, and they can't go anywhere without setting up clandestine trading posts.” Coran sighed nostalgically. “They used to drive the Trade Commission, the Customs Department, the Nonsentient Lifeform Protection Agency, and the Interstellar Decency Organization absolutely mad, and the adults wouldn't do a thing to help or hinder them. Or anyone else, for that matter. Nice to know they're still around.”

“Sez you,” Hunk said, sounding a bit annoyed. “One of my friends had a cousin who got visited by one of those guys, only he wasn't very good at it. I'm told that she watched from the roof of her place while he arranged her llamas into circles, mutilated her alfalfa patch, and practiced punitive proctology on her garden gnome. She was upset about the gnome. It was a present from her sister, and now she can't look at it without laughing.”

Coran waved a hand airily. “He couldn't help it if he was dyslexic. Hold on, I need to make some adjustments. This is a cluttered sort of orbit, isn't it?”

Indeed it was. Bits had been falling off of spacecraft since the first few attempts at space exploration, and nobody had ever gotten around to cleaning things up. As they watched, a tumbling, awkward mass of oddly-shaped metal came barreling into view and bounced off of the egg-cluster ship's shields. Unfortunately, the object ricocheted straight into the probe. There was a burst of static, a whirl of colors, and then the screen went blank.

Pidge winced. “Wow. I hope that nobody's going to miss that military satellite. Crud. None of the other probes are working. What are we going to do now?”

“Hope,” Shiro said.

 

Director Dawkins hated reporters. He hated their barking voices, their gimlet stares, their loaded questions, and their addiction to salacious detail. Most of all, he hated the disruption in his routine when he was forced by his superiors to hold press conferences. It wasn't good for his blood pressure or the Galaxy Garrison Academy, having them sniffing around like the weasels they were, and they just wouldn't let up. It had been bad enough when those three researchers had vanished up by Pluto;  _that_ had finally died down despite the nagging of the conspiracy theorists. It had flared up again worse than ever when one of them had returned, however briefly, in a ship of no Earthly make. He'd seen the wreck himself before the higher-ups had vanished it, and hadn't liked the look of it at all. Recordings of that big blue robot cat had somehow gotten out all over the Internet (and Dawkins had long ago resolved to throttle the idiot who'd leaked it if he ever found out who it had been), and the subsequent disappearance of three of the Academy's students had not gone over well. Three large families and the widow and mother of the vanished Pluto-bound scientist and his son were raising hell about that, and weren't likely to be satisfied with official condolences.

Right now, he was standing behind a podium in one of the training fields, staring at a sea of waving microphones and cameras, and heartily wishing the whole lot of them on the far side of the Moon. A particularly vulpine individual was nagging at him yet again over the possibility of alien abductions, which was far too close to the truth for Dawkins' comfort. There had been a lot of odd sightings recently, and not all of them had been possible to cover up. He looked at all of the eager, predatory muckrakers that were staring at him like a pack of hungry dogs stared at a fresh roll of sausages and took refuge in official protocol.

“The investigations are ongoing,” he stated in as firm a voice as he could. “There is no evidence that the missing students were abducted by aliens, or that the loss of the Kerberos mission was anything other than pilot error. There is no evidence that space aliens exist at all. There is no proof that the videos of strange craft or giant robots are anything other than a hoax. There is no--”

A gust of wind from above cut his denials off short, and the sun was abruptly blocked out by an enormous object that had appeared as if by magic in the sky. Over a hundred people gazed upward in astonishment at what was unmistakably an alien craft. As one, a hundred vidcorders lifted to take images as sunlight glinted off of the sleek blue contours, and a voice boomed out over the field that could have been heard for miles.

“ _Citizens of Earth,”_ it began in a woman's voice, _“that was the biggest pile of complete untruths that I've heard in years. There are well over five thousand other civilizations in this galactic sector alone, and the largest and most aggressive of them has been studying yours for some time. Those three researchers were indeed kidnapped; so were those students, but by a different agency. They are currently building a resistance effort to combat the forces of an Empire that would very much like to enslave and exploit your world, and attempting to keep this information from the general public is not only stupid, but it's rude. I have been asked to deliver messages from five of the abductees and their hosts. Stand by for delivery.”_

A small hatch opened on the underside of the ship, and a box about the size of a board game descended slowly in a beam of shimmering golden light; Dawkins caught it awkwardly—it was heavier than it looked.

“ _The messages include a full report from Takashi Shirogane, official greetings from the Royal House of Altea, and personal recordings for the families of the students. Kindly let the families see those first before you make them public. Your world is in danger, Humans, and it would be to your benefit to make a collective effort to address the problem now, rather than to lie to the people and blame each other later. A lot of other races have attempted to conceal the threat from their people; they are all now subject to the Galra Empire, or are dead. Be warned.”_

With that, the strange ship lifted up and away, vanishing into the clouds and leaving Dawkins feeling like he was holding a live nuke in his hands. From the expressions on the reporters' faces, he might as well have been.

 


	4. Perils!  Rescue!  Perils to the rescue!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanch: Hey, since we're still working on the chapter after this and won't be able to update for a while due to real life, we should post an extra long chapter. That way, we won't disappoint our readers!  
> Kokochan: What, both of them?  
> Spanch: *borrows Pidge's bayard to tase smart-mouthed co-author* Don't be ridiculous. There are at least five.  
> Kokochan: X_X

Chapter 4: Perils! Rescues! Perils To The Rescue!

 

Pidge ran down the hall, the communicator clutched in her hands and the words _I'm gonna get in trouble for this_ running through her mind in an endless repeat. She didn't care. All of her leads had come up dry, there wasn't any way of getting better ones that wouldn't also carry the risk of disaster, and every day that passed was another day in durance vile for those she loved best. Allura would just have to cope. So would Shiro, even though she felt guilty for picking his pockets. He, at least, wanted to help, but his military training forced him to recite long lists of reasons why he couldn't. They were good reasons, but she didn't have to like them.

_Yes,_ the strange Galra woman had helped them, up to a point. She'd told them the truth about the last Altean colony, and so far every other fact and suggestion she'd made had been as good, and the probe they'd sent after her ship when she'd made the mail run to Earth had showed that she was—so far—trustworthy. It was on the strength of this that Pidge had decided to take matters into her own hands.

Right now, she was somewhere in the deserted west wing of the Castle, where most of the guestrooms were back when the Castle had been a functioning seat of government. She slid into one dim suite and locked the door before sitting down on the bed and staring at the slim little bit of alien technology. It didn't look like much, just a navy-blue rectangle with a large round silver button in the center. It seemed a flimsy thing to base her hopes on, but at this point, she was willing to try anything. Carefully, she extended a finger and touched the button.

There was a faint hum and a ring of golden light outlined the button, and then a series of faint, odd sounds, like someone running through tall grasses emanated from the communicator. There was a scrabbling sound like claws on bark, and a soft, unfamiliar word muttered in a woman's voice.  _“Awkward, but it'll do,”_ Pidge heard the voice say, and then:  _“Greetings, Paladins. What do you need?”_

Pidge swallowed hard. “Sorry, did I call at a bad time?”

There was a brief, surprised silence from the other end.  _“Not really. I'm out hunting with the dragons and they're better at it than I am, anyway. You'd be one of the other three Paladins, I assume. Which one, if it may be said?”_

“The green Lion's,” Pidge answered. “I'm Pidge.”

“ _Ah. Good. That Lion has a reputation for choosing pilots who like to ask interesting questions. Go ahead.”_

Pidge blinked and marshaled her thoughts. “I need you to find someone for me,” she began breathlessly, “the two other Humans who were kidnapped along with Shiro—you met him, he's the one with the robot arm.”

“ _Yes. Excellent fellow. He did mention that his companions had been sent to a work camp somewhere. He told me no more than that. I assume that they mean something significant to you.”_

Pidge shivered. She was taking risks here... “My family. My father and brother. I need to rescue them!”

“ _Ah.”_ The Galra woman paused; somewhere in her distance, something bellowed. _“I assume that this call isn't exactly authorized.”_

“No,” Pidge whispered. “How could you tell?”

There was a soft sigh. _“My goodness, but you're young. Your tone of voice, of course, and your willfulness. You're taking an enormous chance on me, Paladin. I could very easily use this against you and your team. Even the mention of the fact to certain individuals that you've got family in captivity could doom you.”_

“I'm willing to take that risk,” Pidge retorted. “The only reason I'm still here is that this is the best chance I've got of finding them. I'm willing to risk asking you because you've played straight with us so far... and because you're not trying to get me to trust you. If you'd tried to reassure me, I would have turned this thing off and hijacked a cruiser or something instead.”

Laughter came through the communicator. _“Young you might be, but you're smart. Indeed, most Galra men are as subtle as a bandsaw sandwich. I'll look around for your kin, Pidge, though it may take me a while. Two slaves taken from a fringe world and discarded as too weak to fight are a little tricky to track. It may be harder for you, however. Remember—work camps are harsh places for those without strength, and yours have been held in at least one for over a year. I might find them, but they might not be whole, alive, or sane, and they may or may not be possible to rescue even if they do live. I can't make any promises, other than that I will seek them out. I'm sorry.”_

Pidge swallowed hard on a suddenly dry throat. “I have to know for sure.”

“ _I understand. I'll contact you immediately when I have an answer for you, and then you can start plotting a rescue or a revenge. Hope for rescue, Pidge. It would drive the Emperor absolutely mad to know that he'd missed his chance for a proper hostage drama.”_

“Understood,” Pidge said a little hoarsely, “Signing out.”

“ _Good luck.”_

 

Her theft of the communicator did not go unnoticed, of course. Shiro was one of those meticulous types that had a place for everything and noticed when something wasn't in its place. Then had followed the predictably ludicrous interlude where Lance had tried being the Great Detective and had tried to pin the whole thing on Keith. Keith, equally predictably, had objected with great energy, and Hunk and Coran had had to forcibly separate them. Shiro, who was so sensible and competent that Pidge had mentally labeled him as “Space Dad”, had deduced the correct answer almost immediately, and now she was being asked to explain herself. It was harder than she'd thought it would be, especially considering Allura's antipathy toward anything Galra.

Allura might have liked to maintain an air of royal dignity and grace, but she could deliver a withering scold with the best of them. Pidge, however, could only be shouted at for a limited time before shouting back. She was explaining, very loudly and angrily, and with the help of some words that she'd picked up in the boy's dorm at the Garrison, that she was only acting as a Paladin for the purpose of locating her family; that was her foremost priority now, and further service to the Lions was contingent on whether or not they could be brought to safety, when something in her pocket went  _beep._

Pidge squeaked and dug the communicator out, stabbing at the button before anyone could take it from her. “I'm here!”

“ _Good. You're just the person I wanted to speak to,”_ the familiar voice said sharply, _“I've found them. If there's one thing the Empire does well, it's to keep good documentation. They're alive, and I think they're recoverable, if you can convince your teammates that we can work together.”_

Pidge leveled a fulminating glare at Allura. “Go ahead.”

“ _Sam and Matt Holt are currently being held in the Atelka Shipyard, where small spacecraft are made and serviced. It's in one of the more thickly-populated sectors, I'm afraid, and is heavily-patrolled. Parzoi Sector, First Quadrant, Sanaar System, in orbit around Tanmarok Three. It used to be one of the old Altean colony worlds, so you shouldn't have any trouble finding it.”_

“That's great!” Pidge said, vastly relieved. “How do you—”

“Absolutely not!” Allura barked angrily, attempting to snatch the communicator out of Pidge's hands and failing. “How do I know that you're not leading us into a trap? Give me that, you little--”

“ _Ah. And you, young lady, are Princess Allura?”_ the chuckle that came from the communicator made the Princess steam. _“You have nothing but my word to go on, of course. Considering what my Empire did to yours, I can't ask you to believe anything I say; I will not ask you to trust me. In addition, I will not ask you to risk the Lions.”_

That startled Allura. “What?”

“ _I have advantages that you don't; all I have to do to gain access to that Shipyard is to bring my ship in for servicing. The tricky part will be in stealing two slaves. It would be a great help, although not absolutely necessary, if Voltron himself were to show up in the outer orbits of that planet, drop his pants and make a crude gesture, and then to run away. All I need is a distraction and a little chaos. Every Galra ship's captain knows of the reward for capturing a Lion—and of the penalty for failing to do so.”_

Someone snickered. Pidge ignored it. “We can do that, maybe. If I can shout the Princess down. What happens if I can't?”

“ _Then we'll rescue them anyway.”_ There was a faint murmured question in a man's voice in the background. _“Yes, I know, Modhri, it's no better. All that does is transfer them from one bad spot into an unknown one. All the same, a weapon taken from his hands is a weapon that he cannot use; small blades kill just as surely as large ones and you know it.”_

The male voice murmured again.

“ _Don't be silly. Soluk and Tilla wouldn't allow it, and I'm not going to break_ that _trust. A rendezvous can be arranged later, and the ship's big enough to house everybody comfortably for a while. They'll probably want medical attention as well.”_

“Wait, so you're going to go after them whether or not we agree to this?” Shiro asked sharply.

“ _Yes. If you come along, you can make sure that we not only succeed in bringing them away, but are able to deliver them to you with all speed. If you don't, you take the risk of leaving them in our hands until we can pass them into your care at a later date. If the Emperor gets his hands on them before we do, you will have to consider the possibility of having to make a sacrifice that may destroy the green Paladin's trust in the rest of you. We can do this alone; it will just be a great deal easier if we have your help.”_

“ _If I may be allowed to speak,”_ the man's voice said diffidently, paused, and continued, _“You are Shiro, yes? The one referred to as 'the Champion'. I remember a tall, pale man, dark-haired with a white forelock, and a battle-arm on the right. I was mostly a tank with big grasping pincers at that point.”_

“Yes, that was me.” Shiro shuddered. “I remember you.”

“ _You shattered my treads, split my claws, and broke my dorsal support elements.”_

Shiro swallowed hard, but was puzzled at Modhri's tone; he hadn't sounded angry. “Yes. I'm sorry.”

“ _Don't apologize. Allow me to thank you instead,”_ Modhri continued quietly, _“if you had not done that, I would be dead and burned, my ashes orbiting that cursed place for all eternity, or worse, rebuilt into something even more vile. You made it possible for my Lady to rescue me from that fate, and for that alone I will never be able to repay you fully. Allow me this: I will help Lizenne free your teammate's family and to deliver them to you alive and as well as may be. Believe me, I have no love whatsoever for the Emperor and his witch. You saw what they did to me. You understand how much that sort of thing hurts.”_

Shiro's metal hand clenched. “I do.”

“ _Yes.”_ there was a faint sigh. _“Green Paladin... Pidge. I am not as strong as I once was, and will need your kin to cooperate with me. What can I say to them that will keep them from running from me?”_

Pidge shot another defiant look at Allura. “Tell them that Katie Holt sent you, and that Mom says no, they can't go back to Kerberos. She doesn't care how much they like freeze-dried peas, they've missed enough home-cooked meals as it is.”

There was a soft chuckle. _“I will tell them that. Few things are more powerful than the word of a mother.”_

“ _Indeed,”_ Lizenne spoke up again, _“I can be at Atelka Shipyard in as little as two days. Will you come? Princess Allura, you are the Commander of Lions. This is your decision.”_

Allura stared in helpless fury at the communicator, and then looked up at the Paladins. They were staring silently at her, anxious, undecided. Even Coran's imperturbability had been shaken. He shifted his weight uneasily. “We can get there in about three, give or take an hour or two. If we're careful, we could do it.”

Allura hissed. “You've given me no choice, curse you.”

“ _On the contrary, I have. It's just a very difficult one, and I'm sorry for that. Choose, Princess. You and I have all the time in the world, but those two captives might not.”_

“Granted. Very well; we will be there in three days. However, if you betray us--”

Lizenne laughed. _“Yes, yes, dear, I know. You will curse us with the Ten Thousand Plagues of Pustulent Pestiferousness, you will hunt us to the ends of the universe, you will skin us for throw rugs and make our skulls into drinking cups, you will kill us to pieces and eat the pieces, yes?”_

“Worse. I will let Pidge have you.” Allura said darkly.

“ _Good gods, that would be a hundred times worse, wouldn't it?”_ Modhri said.

“ _Indubitably. Signing out, Princess. We'll see you anon.”_

The communicator went dark. Hunk chuckled. “I still like her. She sounds like my aunt.”

“Shut up, Hunk,” Allura growled.

 

“Wow,” Hunk said.

“I sure hope that you know what you've gotten us into, Pidge.” Keith grumbled.

Pidge didn't dignify that with an answer. Her nerves were as tightly-strung as piano wires at the moment, and she had the nasty feeling that if she tried to speak, she'd end up screaming. It had been a difficult three days.

It was indeed a very busy system. There were ships everywhere, and not all of them recognizably Galra. Roughly half of them were the dark-purple, sharply-angled craft used by the Empire to keep the rest in line, but the others were a wild assortment of shapes and sizes that ranged from simple silver teardrop shapes to a huge and intricate thing that seemed to be a collection of fishbows held together with flexible piping. The planet below had obviously been resettled by the Empire, but it was equally obvious that the focal point of the civilization here was the Shipyard.

It was _enormous,_ taken up mostly with an octupus's convention of orbital docks where countless starships were being built and serviced, all centered around a control complex that looked like a jumble of odd angles in the regulation purple. Communications towers bristled everywhere, and patrols of fighter craft zoomed around it like flocks of starlings. It was an incredibly risky target, and so far, the Castle was staying well out of it. They were currently tucked up beside the wreckage of an old space station some considerable distance away. From their seats in the Lions, the Paladins had an excellent view.

“Look there!” Shiro said suddenly, flagging an image on his screen for the benefit of the others. “That ship, the one that looks like a lot of blue eggs. That's Lizenne's ship.”

“Weird-looking thing,” Lance observed. “I keep expecting it to hatch.”

“ _We've just had a message burst from the_ Chimera's Clutch, _which is apparently the craft belonging to our friends there.”_ Coran informed them. _“We're to wait until a signal before we get our turn; that will mean that they've got your family, Pidge, and we're to cover their escape. We'll meet up a few systems away, off by Elbaris to bring them onboard, after which we'll all go our own ways. Hardly any trouble for us at all.”_

Hunk groaned. “You've just jinxed us, you know. Everything's gonna get crazy now, I just know it. Way to go, man.”

 

Aboard the  _Chimera's Clutch_ , things were progressing a little more calmly. Lizenne had visited this station numerous times before to get her oddly-shaped antique craft serviced; it was one of the few places left that could, since the race that had built it had perished at the hands of the Emperor well over three hundred years prior. She had only two concerns on this trip; firstly, that on her previous visit, the Stationmaster had been old and nearing retirement; he may have been replaced by now. Secondly, she was worried about Modhri, who hadn't recovered as much of his old strength as he would like her to believe. Still, he stood boldly enough in the dark-blue uniform of a senior stardrive technician, a uniform that he'd once been entitled to wear, and he had tools in his kit that would make the question of identification and access moot. The dragons were right behind them, which was heartening. Very little could withstand an enraged Zampedri prairie dragon, much less two of them.

“Atelka Main Tower, come in,” Lizenne said in her best casual voice, _“Chimera's Clutch_ here, coming in to have my insystem jets looked at.” A fast fix, those, and if necessary she could move the ship without damaging anything much if the worst happened. “Is Sanduk still Stationmaster?”

“ _We read you,_ Chimera, _and we're happy to see you,”_ the Towermaster replied promptly, popping on-screen with a smile. _“We'll have your jets tuned up in no time flat—got all new repair drones just last year. Old Sanduk retired last month, I'm afraid, and he'll be devastated that he missed you, but he really wanted to spend time with his grandnephews. Watch your shorts around the new guy, though. Kharzun's young and full of fire, and he's got some bad habits. If you've got any small pets aboard ship, make sure that they stay aboard or he'll nix 'em for sure. We've had to double our requests for more convict labor lately, he goes through 'em so fast.”_

Lizenne's eyebrows quirked at the screen in apparent mild disapproval; inside, she was cursing a blue streak. “Lose any exotics? I know that Senior Engineer Talscot liked to collect odd aliens, and raised hell whenever someone damaged them.”

“ _No, thankfully, or Kharzun'd be missing a few things too. They don't like each other much, though, and Kharzun's liable to make a mistake soon. He's got a new toy to play with right now, and he's fresh out of Marousenes to feed it. Mind teaching that hairless mankrat a lesson for us, m'Lady? We lack the rank.”_

She allowed a dreadful smile to spread across her face. “I may have just the thing. Anything else I should know about?”

“ _Maybe.”_ The Towermaster looked a little nervous. _“We've had a capitol ship in for engine trouble for the best part of a week. There's a bigshot of some sort aboard, not sure who, but really high-up. That's where Kharzun got his pet from, so be warned. I'll set you down near where he's got it penned, and he'll want to show it off to you anyway. Just follow the orange blinker drones to your dock... oh, and be prepared to give him a zap—he's got dynastic ambitions, too.”_

“Thanks for the warning,” Lizenne said sincerely. “Signing out, Tower.”

“ _Enjoy your stay, m'Lady. Signing out.”_

“Helpful fellow,” Modhri observed.

“It's his job, and I know him of old.” Lizenne cocked a stern look at him. “You know your way around that warren well enough?”

Modhri smiled. “I was trained there. Fortunately, anyone inclined to remember this obstreperous pup out of the horde that infested those halls in my trainee days is likely to be gone. I've also rather changed in appearance since I last visited.”

She laid a gentle hand on the shoulder that had had to be replaced. “Just don't overdo it. Get those two Humans and get back to the ship. Try not to get creative.”

“That, my dear, arrogant, and prideful Lady, is your job.”

 

Stationmaster Kharzun was tall and whipcord-thin, with a spotless, hand-tailored uniform that he was obviously very proud of. He was proud of his bloodline, too; a son of one of the planets colonized during the Great Dispersion—possibly the same world that the Emperor himself hailed from—Kharzun was nearly hairless, slightly scaly, and small-eared. Adaptions that had made life easier on that desert world, but were often unattractive to the eyes of the original forest-dwelling stock. Lizenne detested him immediately, and not just because she could trace her ancestry all the way back to the subarctic woodlands of Galran Prime. She didn't like his voice, which was monotonous and slightly nasal. She didn't like his posture, which was even more arrogant than hers when she was in a bad mood. She didn't like the way he smelled, which suggested that he had some unfortunate personal habits. She didn't like the look in his eyes, the oily smile on his narrow face, and especially not the deep bow he made to her when she stepped off of the ship; it was a standard courtesy, perhaps, but it also gave him an eagerly-embraced opportunity to examine her from knees to neck. He also stood just that little bit too close, and it was a real trial not to rake her nails across his face. Still, her mother had drilled her extensively in polite behavior when she was a cub, and any lesson that that old harpy had taught had a tendency to stay taught.

And so it was that she stood patiently at the foot of the docking ramp with a pleasant expression on her face while he recited a pretty little speech of welcome, with the drone techs standing by and alternately giving her looks of sympathy and shooting impatient glares at their oblivious boss. If nothing else, it served as a distraction that allowed Modhri to sneak off unnoticed. Her sensitive ears had picked up the soft hush of the emergency hatch in the ship's undercarriage, and softer footsteps heading away some minutes ago.

Eventually, Kharzun ran out of flowery compliments to bestow upon her, and grandly waved the techs forward. She murmured a standard pleasantry to thank him for his welcome, and was not surprised when he did not head back to his office. “That's a Saranto cluster-ship, isn't it?” he asked, looking curiously at the sleek blue plating. “I didn't know that there were any left.”

Well, the man had done his homework, at least. “Yes, a civilian model, built more for comfort than for speed, but it suits my purposes. It was a coming-of-age gift from my aunt.”

She saw his eyes gleam, possibly estimating her family's wealth. Not many people got such rich gifts. “Modified, I assume? Those things were a tad unreliable, or so I have read. What have you got powering it, my Lady?”

“A standard yacht-grade Balmeran crystal system,” she replied. “I had the tubes redone to the Imperial Standard and added some pulse cannons in case of pirates; thankfully, I haven't had trouble.”

Kharzun nodded slowly, but looked a little puzzled. “Wise, my Lady, but I thought that it was impossible to remove the original fusion-pile drive from Saranto ships without ruining the life-support systems.”

Lizenne smiled. “It is. The fusion reactor's still there, but powered down. I use it as an emergency backup in case the crystal should crack. Yes, I know that those systems don't like being jostled, but it's another deterrent for aggressors. The lesser pods are original equipment as well, and can be sacrified as high-grade missiles if the need should arise.”

Kharzun swallowed hard, his composure rather dented as he realized that the big antique craft could very easily destroy most of the Shipyard if the fusion drive went haywire. “I take care,” she said sweetly, “to maintain both drives in perfect order, which is why I come here for service.”

“Uh... we... we are honored by your confidence, my Lady,” he said with a sickly smile.

He might have gone on, but something _large_ moved at the far end of the docking platform, and a growl like a major thunderstorm reverberated on the air. Lizenne had been too distracted by the welcoming committee to notice it before, but there was a very large force-screen pen over there, and its occupant had just woken up.

“What,” she said, “in the name of the Emperor's left eye is _that?”_

Kharzun turned to gaze at the enormous, awkward-looking creature with a sort of malicious affection. “That, my Lady, is the proud creation of another of my guests. It is destined for glory at the Center, where Haggar herself will use it to create a Robeast to serve the Empire in its aims. The Druid wished the thing to get some exercise while her ship's engine was being tuned, and so we have been proud to offer our services.”

Lizenne stared fixedly at the monster. It had been a person once. It wasn't one anymore. Possibly a Tanur or a Loporian, but it had been so twisted and perverted that she couldn't tell for sure. It was a dull orange-red in color, was plated in huge thick rectangular scales, had rows of sharp spines down its back, possessed three legs like tree trunks, and had a pair of thick, muscular arms whose distorted hands hung nearly to the floor. It raised a fanged and horn-crowned head to bellow angrily, its three large purple eyes glaring around in mindless hunger.

“What have you been feeding it?” she asked.

Kharzun waved a hand airily. “Slaves, of course. What better fodder? It's a good way to get rid of the weak and obstreperous ones, and it makes the rest ever so much more tractable. I've already sent a man to bring up a couple for it. Would you like to watch it feed? It's quite enjoyable.”

There was another fearsome growl, although it came from behind them rather than from the monster. Kharzun jumped and yelped, spinning around to see Tilla at the top of the ship's docking ramp. “What is _that?”_

Lizenne glanced up and saw that Tilla was staring right at the beast at the other end of the platform, swollen with outrage and hissing like a steam engine. Soluk joined her at that point, and was no happier with what he saw. Lizenne knew that the visiting Druid would soon be missing a pet; there was no stopping an angry dragon. She smiled at the suddenly very nervous Stationmaster. “A pet project of my own. I call them 'taurynx'. Let us see how well that ugly thing over there matches up to my beauties.”

Tilla and Soluk surged forward down the ramp, forcing Kharzun to leap out of the way. Soluk roared, a deep-voiced bellow that caught the monster's attention immediately. It screeched a challenge and charged the force screens. They held, barely, and it howled in rage and frustration. Tilla barked, showed her finger-long teeth, and both dragons leaped into a run.

 

Modhri's family was nowhere near so distinguished as his Lady's. For centuries unnumbered his ancestors had served the Empire by seeing to it that its proud defenders were fed, clad, and supplied, and as soldiers. Always soldiers, as faceless in the Histories as grains of sand. One of Modhri's great-uncles, however, had aspired to a slightly higher calling by going into espionage. He'd seen something of himself in the bright-eyed cub, and had taught Modhri a few important tricks of the trade; tricks that served him well now as he ambled casually down the familiar halls. _Never run,_ great-uncle Zandrus had told him, _never run. Don't even hurry. Stride along briskly if you must, but remember—if you need to move fast, everything's already gone to hell._ _Be calm and exude an air of gentle reassurance. You belong there, wherever you might be, you are one of the staff, you have a perfect right to be there. Pay little outward attention to the upper ranks unless one of them gives you a direct order; it is astonishing how few of them are willing to get to know those who work for them._

So far, he'd passed two sergeants, a colonel, and innumerable security guards and none of them had paid him any mind at all. It had been simplicity itself to clone a passcard from an off-shift engineer in one of the staff breakrooms, and now he was deep in the part of the Shipyard Station that visitors never saw. The back halls and private workshops where obscure parts were graded, stored, and repaired, and where the slaves and convict laborers were kept when not out on the docks. He walked into one of the old information alcoves that the local ship techs used to look up bits of this or that in the storerooms and found it empty of even a Sentry. What need of tight security down here, when even the Stationmaster himself barely knew that they existed? The terminal came alight just fine, and he set about locating his objective. Base-grade laborers were officially classified as “live resources”, and he had no trouble in bringing the two aliens up, although he frowned when he saw where they were. According to the records, both of them were in detention at the moment, one for “failure to comply with orders” and the other for “attempting to strike a superior”. More worrying was that the detention penalty was set for “indefinite.” On a hunch, he looked up the live-resources detention records for the past week and found that there had been a lot of “indefinite” penalties; approximately four per day, which was rather more than those small, cramped cells could hold. Muttering a curse, he shut down the terminal and walked—briskly—to the detention area.

 

The monster screamed again and rammed the force-shields hard enough to make the generator spit sparks. Tilla boomed a derisive roar, prancing just out of reach. It snarled and began striking at the walls of its pen with triphammer fists, and finally the shield generator blew its fuse. The beast was loose, and it lunged after Tilla, who evaded its clumsy grab with disdainful ease. Lizenne wasn't worried about them. The predators that they were designed by nature to deal with weren't quite as large as this thing, but they were a lot more agile and better balanced than the monster was. She was more worried about the frantic Stationmaster, who was gibbering in terror and begging her to call the dragons off. Not a chance of that, alas; Tilla and Soluk absolutely loathed creatures of this nature. Lizenne was keeping all of her attention on her more unusual senses. She could feel the presence of the Druid somewhere onboard the big warship, and knew that it could sense its creation's rage. It might come to investigate what was happening; it would certainly notice when the two dragons killed its pet. All Lizenne could do at this point was marshal her own resources, make sure of the items she kept for emergencies, and hope like hell that Modhri would get back here before Soluk and Tilla put their foe out of its misery.

They were magnificent, though, as they danced around the lumbering, three-legged freak, getting the measure of its strengths and taking note of its weaknesses. Wise of them. This wasn't the first time that they'd encountered such perversions of nature, and such often had nasty surprises for the unwary. This one, at least, depended upon main strength and its collection of sharp points, and it wasn't long before they'd goaded it into bringing both spiky arms down in a blow that crumpled the decking. The creature's arm-spikes also got wedged in the tough hullplate, allowing Tilla and Soluk to duck behind it and bury their fangs in its hind legs. It screamed, one last howl of shock and outrage before crumpling dead to the floor. Lizenne felt the Druid's surprise as it felt its monster die, and her nerves twanged at the pulse of power as it took the fastest route to the dock. Quintessence-boosted. Damn. Lizenne sighed and brought up her own protections as the masked and dark-robed Druid appeared suddenly on the dock near them.

“What has happened?” it demanded in a harsh, scratchy voice that sounded more mechanical than anything else. “Why was my beast set loose?”

Kharzun gibbered incoherently, and Lizenne pushed him aside. “It let itself loose, Druid, and my own beasts took offense. Was that drooling pile of flesh the best that you could do?”

The Druid seemed to swell with fury, purple sparks crackling from its hands. “That was _mine!”_

Lizenne sneered. “Was it? I imagine that you spent long hours fondling its ears, you degenerate.”

The Druid screeched and fired a bolt of dark energy at her.

 

Modhri was nearly too late. He found the cells easily enough although he was nearly out of breath by the time he got there, but the cell he wanted had already been opened. A couple of guards were in the process of removing the prisoners, one of them holding the smaller male up off of the floor by the scruff of his neck. The cub seemed pitifully small and thin when compared to the burly soldier. Modhri didn't hesitate, but took a small stunner out of his kit and fired twice. He'd never had battle training beyond the basics, but he'd taken care to hone his aim, and the two guards crumpled to the floor in a moaning heap. The slave, who had dropped to his knees when he'd hit the floor, looked up at Modhri in helpless terror; they'd cuffed his hands behind his back, poor cub, and from the look of him, whoever had been in charge of such things had been shorting his rations.

“Hold still,” Modhri said, taking a decoder out of his kit and reaching for his cuffs. “Matt Holt, yes?”

The cub gasped. “How did...”

“Katie Holt sent me,” Modhri replied with a smile as the cuffs snapped open, “she says that her mother will not permit you to go back to Kerberos, no matter how much you like freeze-dried peas. Home cooking is to be preferred.”

“ _Katie?”_ the cub squeaked, “How did she get all the way out here?”

“She had help, and not from my people, believe me,” Modhri said, helping him up. “Ah. You are injured? Where is your father?”

Matt had swayed unevenly on his feet, favoring the right leg. “It got infected and never healed right. Dad's in the other cell, but he's hurt, too. That big jerk there knocked him down and kicked him.”

Modhri grunted and stood up, adjusting his decoder until the neighboring cell door slid aside to reveal the older male, also thin and obviously in pain. He let the cub go in first and reassure the man before approaching. “Sam Holt,” he said quietly so as not to frighten him, “we need to leave now. Your daughter stands ready to cause a great deal of chaos, and I'd rather be out and away before we wind up in the middle of it.”  _Cracked or broken ribs,_ Modhri thought, observing the elderly Human,  _damn. We won't be able to move fast._

The Human was brave, though, pulling himself to his feet without a whimper, and stumbled forward willingly enough. “Why are you helping us?” he asked in a dry voice.

“Many reasons,” Modhri said, herding them gently away from the cells, into which he shoved the guards before closing and locking the doors. “Among them is that I owe one of her friends my life. Come on, we'll take it slowly.”

Nobody challenged them, which didn't surprise Modhri much. Indeed, why should they? A senior ship-tech with a couple of slaves in tow was too common a sight to bother with, although the cub was very nervous and the older male was sweating with the effort. He let them rest as often as he dared, but never for as long as they needed. His caution paid off, however, when a crowd of terrified drone technicians stampeded past them, followed by the Stationmaster himself.  _“Run!”_ they shouted in passing,  _“Stay clear! There's a mage-battle going on in Dock 84!”_

Dock 84. That was where the  _Chimera's Clutch_ was. How the hell had Lizenne gotten into a fight with another witch?  _“Tajvek,”_ he cursed, and beckoned to the two Humans. “Come on, we're almost there.”

 

Lizenne deflected another bolt of purple light with a snap of her wrist, then teleported away before another landed; the enraged Druid was expending tremendous amounts of energy without noticeably weakening. She'd distracted it enough to let the two dragons get back onboard ship, at least, but Modhri hadn't yet returned. If he didn't show up soon, she would have to unleash her allies earlier than she'd wanted to. The only thing that would distract this creature enough to get past its guard at this point was a full-on giant robot attack. At this rate, she was certainly going to have to do something drastic; there were too many secrets that needed keeping and she would probably have to kill the Druid to do that...

There! She spotted Modhri lurking in a doorway with two smaller persons in slave colors close by him. Grinning fiercely at the Druid, she generated a cloud of bright needles and forced it to teleport, then jumped seven times in quick succession to various points on the dock. On the fifth jump, she left something behind.

 

Modhri caught the thrown item, and smiled when he saw what it was. With a nod, he offered it to his companions. “Push the button. I give you this right; it will summon Katie.”

The cub jabbed the signaler's switch without hesitation.

 

The signal was answered immediately. Allura barely had time to alert her Paladins before they were out and away, the green Lion at the fore. Within minutes, Atelka Shipyard got the shock of its life when Voltron roared into its traffic lanes and fired a shot across its bow that torched off an entire fleet of brand-new Galra fighters. The impact and shockwave of the bolt shook the entire Station from one end to the other, knocking the Druid off-balance. Lizenne had been expecting something like this and seized on the opportunity, whipping a dagger out of one sleeve and sinking it up to the hilt in the Druid's shoulder. It screamed and teleported away, leaving Lizenne alone on the trembling dock. “It's gone!” she shouted, “Everybody get onboard _now!_ We are leaving!”

Modhri wasted no time in herding his charges up the ramp and into the ship. “Will it come back?” he asked.

“Not likely,” Lizenne panted, heading for the bridge. “The dagger was anointed with some of Soluk's venom, but that Druid was hopped up on at least a city's worth of Quintessence. Even if it doesn't die, it'll be very ill for a while. I'm more worried about the battleship, to be honest. I see that you had no trouble.”

She cast her eyes over their guests, who stared warily back at her. Modhri shook his head and waved them toward a pair of passenger seats. “Almost none. A couple of guards, easily dealt with. Time was our true enemy, Lizenne. Another day—another hour, and we would have been too late.”

Lizenne growled and brought the ship to life. “A curse on Kharzun! His wastefulness nearly skewed everything. May his uniforms never fit right. My goodness, look at that!”

The _Chimera's Clutch_ had risen above the docking arm at just the right angle to see the colossal robot slice one of the big cruisers in half as smaller ships sped in flocks around it, the civilian craft fleeing for their lives and the fighters attempting to keep formation in the disorganized swarm of panicking pilots. “Magnificent.” Modhri observed.

“Is... is Katie driving that?” a boy's voice asked behind them.

“Part of it,” Lizenne replied, throwing the ship into drive. “The green arm. It's a gestalt engine, requiring five bonded pilots. A little clumsy in the training phases, perhaps, but a seasoned team is a force to be reckoned with, both in and out of the Lions.”

Modhri gasped and tapped a screen. “Lizenne! The Druid's ship is launching, and it's following us.”

Lizenne cursed and hauled on the control yoke, narrowly avoiding a huge beam of purple incandescent death. _“And_ curse the vindictive! Why won't they take the bait like sensible people, especially when it's so big and colorful? Shields up, and tell our friends that we've got trouble.”

 

It was a stiff fight, but the Paladins were more than up for it. Pidge's anxieties and Allura's misgivings had been affecting the entire team's spirits, and, as a result, everybody had been spoiling for a fight for days. Even so, it wasn't quite enough for Pidge, who scanned around constantly for a cluster of blue eggs. “Where are they?” she muttered, blowing another fighter to pieces. “Where are they? Come on, guys, you _promised.”_

She nearly jumped out of her seat when a familiar voice rang through her comm. _“Paladins! We have the Humans, alive but not safe. Look to your starboard side—we are being followed and need your help.”_

That was Modhri, sounding strained, and there was a low-voiced string of what sounded like swearwords in the background. Her eyes flashed to the right, where a vast purple destroyer was showering a much smaller ship with ion blasts.

“We see you!” Shiro shouted, and Pidge felt Voltron surge forward to deal with that threat. “We're coming!”

Other large ships rose in defense of the capitol craft, slowing them down and getting in the way; Pidge groaned as the _Chimera's Clutch_ had its shields stripped away under that barrage. “Hunk! We need that cannon!”

“On it!” Hunk said, and ships exploded like fireworks all around, but there were still too many.

“ _It's no good!”_ Lizenne's voice snarled, _“We're not agile or fast enough, and the shields are going. Drastic measures, people, get to the pod! Now, I said, and carry them if you have to!”_

A minute later, the _Clutch_ 's shields failed, and the lesser eggs split off from the main fuselage as a beam of hot ions burned against naked hullplate. The lesser eggs, at least ten of them, burst into drive on their own tubes, streaking off in all different directions. The main egg seemed to flicker, and then exploded with such force that the destroyer was blown in half. Even Voltron was pushed back by that blast, and every ship in the area was knocked for a loop. Pidge screamed in denial, one long agonized howl of loss and woe that trailed off in sobs.

“Chimera's Clutch, Clutch _, do you read me?”_ Coran called over the comm channels, but there was only the hissing of static for several long, terrible seconds.

Then, miraculously, a voice filtered in out of the ion-scrambled mess:  _“Son of a spavined hooptwick, but my aunt is going to have the loss of that ship out of my hide. This is going to make things very inconvenient. Hello out there, we've managed to survive that blast, but our pod's drive blew out. May we beg a rescue anyway? Matt, be a dear and call your sister to us.”_

“ _Katie?”_ a boy's voice, achingly familiar to Pidge's ears, sounding shaken. _“Katie, we're all right, we're alive, but Dad needs help.”_

“We're coming, Matt,” Pidge replied, dashing tears from her eyes, “we're coming. Keep talking so that we can find your pod. What's wrong with Dad?”

 

It didn't take long to find the pod, thankfully enough, and the Lions brought it into the Castle's main hangar bay with no trouble at all. Unfortunately, it wouldn't stay upright; the tubes and landing gear hadn't survived the explosion, and so the thing had to be propped up between the red and yellow Lions. Their Paladins dismounted and turned to have a look at their capture. “Looks like an Easter egg that somebody tried to flame-broil,” Keith observed.

Hunk's stomach grumbled predictably, and he groaned. “Don't talk to me about eggs, all right? I've been craving deviled eggs for weeks.”

Pidge dashed up, looking for any signs of life, Shiro and Lance beside her. “Oh, wow,” she said, surveying the damage, “we might have to cut them out of there. I can't see the hatch.”

“It could just hatch,” Lance said, “y'know, looking like a big egg and all.”

Shiro gave him a quelling glance, and then turned to see Coran and Allura running to join them. “Paladins!” Coran said urgently, “we have to get them out of that pod, and then get that pod out of here as fast as we can. That's from a Saranto ship, and they had a bad habit of using their extra lifepods as fusion missiles. That thing could blow at any minute!”

There was a _clonk_ from inside the egg that made them all jump, and then the outline of a hatch appeared on the scorched surface. It got stuck halfway and had to be shoved aside by a tall, thin, and very tired-looking Galra. Lance reacted immediately, bringing his bayard out and aiming it at the purple alien. “Don't move!”

The Galra merely sighed and sat down on the threshold; far more terrifying was the lavender-furred woman who loomed up behind him, topaz eyes burning. _“Don't you dare,”_ she snarled.

Lance had grown up in a very large, very close-knit family. He had heard that tone of voice before, and feared it. It triggered certain responses in his subconscious mind, and he found himself shrinking away with his bayard hidden behind his back and a sheepish grin on his face. Pidge squealed, and he realized belatedly that the Galra woman was holding an injured man in her arms, and a teenaged boy bearing a distinct resemblance to Pidge was peering over the sitting Galra's shoulder.

“Sam!” Shiro said, starting forward, “Matt! You're all right!”

The Galra eased himself down to the deck and helped the boy down so that Pidge could grab him up in a huge bear hug and weep all down his chest. Shiro smiled and nodded at him. “Modhri, you're looking better.”

Modhri smiled grimly and braced his back against the hull of the pod. “Compared to the first time you saw me, yes. Thank you again, by the way. Ah. Just pass him down gently, Lizenne.”

Lizenne was standing very still, eyes locked on Allura's in a shared glare that you could bend U-bolts around. The Princess was not at all happy to have them here, and Lizenne did not take hostility well. Modhri's soft-spoken words distracted her long enough to hand down her passenger into Shiro's arms. Sam Holt was unconscious and pale, and far too thin for comfort. Lizenne turned and headed back into the pod, shouting at something inside. Modhri grunted wearily. “Get that man to the medical section as soon as you can. He's got broken ribs, among other things.” There was a disgruntled _gronk_ from within the pod, and he smiled. “Also, be warned: Lizenne brought the dragons.”

 

Tilla and Soluk, at least, had no trouble adapting to their new situation. They greeted Shiro and Hunk with great eagerness, whiffling them all over before sneezing and giggling girlishly. Everyone else got the same treatment as well; Keith seemed to enjoy it and so did Lance after he got over his initial nerves, Pidge and Matt had to be sniffed together because she wouldn't let go of her brother, and Coran was perfectly happy to return the gesture. Allura bore it with a slightly fixed smile, and even the mice got a good whiffle in before disappearing back into their own places in the Castle. It was Lizenne and Modhri who were having a bit more trouble. Well, Lizenne, mostly. Modhri was content to sit at her feet while looking as harmless as possible, but there was something in Lizenne's posture that suggested instant violence if anyone made a wrong move.

Hunk commented on it first. “Switch to decaf, will you? You're starting to make Allura jumpy, and she gets mean when she's jumpy.”

She gave him a long, blank look, but then seemed to collect herself. “Sorry,” she said with an apologetic glance at the Princess. “It's instinctive. My man is injured, I'm in the territory of an unfamiliar woman, I've recently been in a fight with a very dangerous foe, I've lost my own territory, and we may or may not be among friends. I've also just given up two valuable hostages as per the agreement, and my gut is telling me that that was a very bad idea.”

Modhri chuckled softly. “We're also tired, dirty, sore, hungry, and have just revealed ourselves as traitors to the Empire in at least three different ways. It's been a bad day.”

Hunk considered that. “Give me a few ticks,” he said, and headed out of the hangar.

The two Galra watched him go with puzzled looks and then turned their attention to their hosts. Coran had already moved their ruined pod out of the Castle (and just in time; it blew up rather spectacularly a few minutes after being ejected) and now there were three separate arguments going on. Pidge was trying to get Matt to tell her what had happened over the past year or so, Allura was more interested in getting the unwanted aliens out of her house, Shiro and Matt were objecting to her lack of hospitality toward someone who had just been of great help, and the red and blue Paladins were offering unsolicited opinions on just about everything. The dragons were sitting off to one side, watching the fun with interest. This might have continued indefinitely if the elevator doors hadn't opened when they did. Humans and Alteans stopped shouting immediately and turned as one to face it as a pair of unmistakable aromas wafted over them.

“Hey, guys,” Hunk said, holding up a large bowl of golden-brown, bacon-scented objects in one hand and a slightly smaller bowl of something pink in the other, “lunch. C'mon, let's get upstairs and talk like civilized people, okay? See you there.”

The doors closed just before Keith and Lance could crowd in with him, forcing them to wait until the lift came back down. “Tanrook buns and Altean celenra gel,” Lizenne said, rubbing at her eyes. “By all the gods, the boy is a genius.”

Modhri laughed and hauled himself to his feet. “Genius should be encouraged.”

 

It was later, and tensions had eased somewhat. Hunk had bullied the kitchen into making an enormous amount of food, most of which had vanished, and the last few tanrook buns were currently being fed to Soluk, who had laid his enormous spiny head on Allura's lap. This served to keep her too distracted to say anything unfortunate, which was a blessing because it gave Matt some room to speak. “We were traded around a lot,” he said, “Dad and I have a lot of scientific skills that most of the other prisoners didn't, and that made us valuable. They had us grading rare minerals in the first camp we were sent to, and then working on equipment maintenance, and then our overseer lost us in a card game to some other guy who put us to work in manufacturing circuit lattices. Then it was building robots until his boss stole us, and... well, a lot of other jobs. We were eventually given to Senior Engineer Talscott as a birthday present. He wasn't a bad guy, but whoever was in charge of feeding the slaves had had his budget cut three times. Dad... his health hasn't been good lately, and the short rations didn't help. He collapsed when one of the guards had him hauling crates of engine parts and started kicking him. I tried to fend them off, but that didn't go real well. They told us that we were going to be monster-fodder... and then _he_ showed up.”

Matt had pointed at Modhri, who had been persuaded with some difficulty to sit on the lounge's comfortable couch instead of on the floor at Lizenne's feet. As it was, he was sticking very close to her. Lizenne didn't seem to mind this at all, and had draped an arm possessively around his shoulders. Modhri gave him a tired smile. “Are you complaining?”

“No!” Matt said firmly. “It just came as a surprise, is all.”

“Sometimes surprises are welcome,” Shiro said, casting the pair an interested look. “What happened? That big destroyer should have been more interested in catching Voltron.”

Lizenne snorted and replied sourly, “The Fates conspired against me. Modhri here had no trouble at all in finding and acquiring his objectives, fortunate fellow. I must have given him all my luck. The Stationmaster was new and determined to make a good impression by showing off a monster that he'd been babysitting. The destroyer, you see, was transporting a Druid.”

“A Druid?” Lance yelped, “You mean one of those beaky things that pop in and out and try to turn Keith into a charcoal briquette and miss?”

Lizenne lifted an eyebrow at Keith. “Yes, although they tend not to miss. You must be very fast, Paladin.”

“And lucky,” Keith admitted.

“Yes. The Druid had created something large and nasty that was to be delivered to Parzurak, a little gift for Haggar to work with, that she might pass it on—with modifications—to you.” Lizenne reached up and rubbed Tilla's chin. “You should thank the dragons, by the way. They put the poor thing out of its misery for you. Unfortunately, the Druid took offense. We fought, and I had to knife the creature.”

“It was awesome!” Matt said with a big grin, “They were blinking in and out of sight like fireflies and the Druid was blasting everything with purple lightning, and Lizenne tossed Modhri the signaler. He let me call you myself. Then something big hit the station, and she stabbed the Druid right through the shoulder.”

“Poisoned knife. Quite a good one.” Modhri murmured fondly, leaning his head on Lizenne's shoulder. “She always did have excellent taste in weapons. The Druid was no longer a problem, so we took the opportunity to leave. Alas, the destroyer's captain objected to her treatment of his important passenger. Treason, it seems, was more offensive to his mind than giant robots.”

“Yeah. We couldn't get to you in time,” Pidge said. “Sorry about that. Why did your ship blow up like that? It took out that destroyer and two docking arms!”

“Fusion-pile reactor,” Lizenne said with a smirk. “A little bit of an antique, that. It basically generates a very small star in order to power the ship's systems. The energy yeild is great, but it doesn't like being shot at. Pirates avoid that sort of craft, which is why my aunt gave it to me. I like to travel, and my aunt always fretted over my safety. Damn. Getting a new ship is going to be difficult. I am sorry to have to ask this of you, Princess, but I must beg a bunk for my menagerie here until I can do that.”

“Won't your aunt give you another one?” Hunk asked before Allura could speak.

“Hah. No.” Lizenne rubbed absently at the fur behind Modhri's ear, making him sigh happily. “My family is as loyal to the Emperor as any of his generals. By now, Zarkon and his witch will know that I've gone rogue, and my name and image will have already been broadcast as being wanted dead or alive. Alive, preferably, so that Haggar can use me in her experiments. I expect that my folks have declared me as dead and disowned, the better to protect their own interests.”

“You'll be in good company,” Modhri said, looking up at her adoringly, “I've been officially dead for over a year. It's not too bad.”

“Yes, dear, but I did like having that freedom of movement. I can afford a new ship, that's not a problem. The trick will be in finding a dealer that is willing to do business with a couple of zombies. Well, Princess?”

Allura looked reluctant. “I'm not sure that I like that idea.”

Lizenne nodded. “Quite understandable. I promise that I will be on my best behavior, and that Modhri here will do the same. We are able to pay our way; Modhri was a very able starship technician before he was forced into command, and I have talents and techniques that will serve your Paladins well. None of you know how to fight Druids. I do, and I can teach you. I'm also a skilled medic, a good pilot, a decent cook, and both of us know how the Empire functions today, as opposed to the information you have on file, which is ten millennia out of date. Even the dragons may contribute their strengths as shipboard security. Pity the invader who boards this Castle uninvited.”

Tilla grinned. She had an excellent set of fangs.

Allura looked down at Soluk, who winked at her, and then up at the faces of her friends. “All right, I suppose, but only until you can find a new ship.”

There was a faint snore. Modhri had fallen asleep against Lizenne's shoulder. Lizenne puffed a faint laugh and caressed his face gently, a tender gesture that sent a pang of unknown emotions through Allura's heart. “Thank you, although shopping will have to wait. Modhri pushed himself harder than he should have today. He is by no means completely recovered.”

Allura glanced at Shiro. “I was told that he'd been injured.”

Lizenne undid the catches on Modhri's shirt and folded the fabric back, revealing his chest. The ribs and shoulder bones were plainly visible beneath the fine purple fur, and scars snaked over his torso like lightning bolts. “When I pulled him from the charnel pit, there was very little of him left. He still had both eyes, which was a mercy, but the left shoulder and arm were gone, as was the right arm from the elbow down. Several of his major organs had been replaced with mechanical systems, along with half of his pelvis, two sections of his spinal column, and both legs. I'm amazed that he held onto as much of his sanity as he did; those butchers had done their best to drive him completely mad. Replacing what he had lost took a great deal of effort. He may never regain his full strength.”

Shiro shuddered and flexed his mechanical hand, well-aware that he'd gotten off very lightly.

“Believe it or not, Princess, there are Galra who object to this sort of thing as much as you do. I'm one of them, and Modhri, for obvious reasons, is another. Doubtless we will have to settle our differences with each other, but this is not the time. If you would please find a room for us, I need to get him into a proper bed.”

Allura had been staring in horror at the amount of damage that Modhri had sustained. “All right, I can do that... um. If your dragon will let me up?”

Soluk snorted and lifted his head with solemn dignity off of her knees, licking her once, gently, on one cheek before resting his head on his foreclaws.

 

Allura felt itchy. It wasn't a physical sensation, but the itch was there, nagging, persistent, and maddening. She had the terrible feeling that _something wasn't quite right,_ and it was really starting to get on her nerves. It wasn't the Paladins, who were as boisterous as ever, more so now that Pidge's father was out of the medical pod and happily examining the Castle's mechanisms with his daughter. It wasn't the dragons, who were surprisingly genial and polite houseguests. It wasn't Coran, who was... well, very much himself. It wasn't even Modhri, who had gracefully agreed to wear a security bracelet that let the Castle's AI keep an eye on his movements. Lizenne had accepted one with less grace, and then had vanished into the depths of the Castle's unused wings. Allura did not like that. She didn't like having Galra in the house, period. She didn't like the idea of having a rogue witch doing rogue things so near to the Lions, and now, Allura raged within herself, she couldn't even concentrate on anything! Something weird was going on, she could feel it, and it was driving her nuts. Goaded unmercifully by this sensation, she had taken up her post on the bridge to run scans on the ship, trying to find the source of the trouble.

“Worried about something, Princess?” Coran asked her.

“Something's wrong, Coran, I can feel it.” Allura said, running scans on the engine level and coming up with nothing more than a bit of debris. “I just can't pinpoint it!”

Coran tugged his mustache. “Could be the Castle trying to tell you something, yeah. Your mother could tell if there was so much as a napkin out of place in the kitchen storage, and your father once spent the whole day fretting before we found the infestation of bockles in the basement. Took a week to get rid of 'em, and longer to clean the mess out of the walls. Could it be the Lions?”

“No, they test clean,” Allura said, scowling at her screens. “It's something... aha! Look here!”

There was one anomaly on the ship's diagram, a spot in the north wing that was shifting in and out of focus. Coran squinted at it for a moment and then straightened up with a smile. “I remember that one. That's one of the upper entertainment suites, where Countess Telcia used to hold parties while visiting your aunt. Small parties, and very exclusive, and the rumors that came out of those were a bit... hmm, unlikely. I know that the cleaning staff always dreaded having to deal with the aftermath. I don't remember them bending time and space like that, though.”

“I am going to investigate,” Allura said triumphantly, pulling a small stun-gun from a hidden compartment in the console. “If I'm not back within the hour, send the Paladins up to help.”

Feeling very daring, Allura headed up to the deserted entertainment deck, stunner at the ready and an odd mix of relief and excitement coursing through her veins. It was a long trip, which served to leach off some of that feeling; sometimes, even she forgot just how big and empty the Castle was. The halls were wide here, which was typical of the more exalted apartments, and she was able to spot her objective from a considerable distance away. The doors stood open, and the hall before them was lit with a faint golden effulgence. There was also a soft sound coming from them, regular, rythmic, almost like music. _Chanting,_ she realized. Someone was performing a ritual! There was only one person with knowledge of that sort on the ship, and Allura relished the thought of giving that individual a good zap. Carefully, very carefully, she eased forward, the words coming clearer as she did so.

“ _...tai-_ xha _tahe moq, sa-_ qur _tahe moq, alta kethan solma'var...”_

The words meant nothing to her. Allura peered cautiously around the doorframe and stared, transfixed at what she saw. The room's lights had been deactivated, and yet was full of subtle patterns of light. They wafted like strands of fine silk on the air, coursed over the walls, floor, and ceiling like circuit diagrams, formed sheets of peculiar symbols in odd corners, and webbed in profusion around a single figure in the center of the room. Lizenne was sitting cross-legged on the floor with her fingers steepled before her face and her eyes closed, the security bracelet anchored into the golden web and turning the filaments blue where they connected. There were sheets of that same blue meshing with the designs on every flat surface as well, the lights pulsing in time with her chanting.

“ _...sambax etatalanth vaas, svaral antuk oranck kha...”_

As Allura watched, images began forming in the web before her, vague at first, then slowly gaining definition. She experienced a shock when saw the Castle resolve out of the glow. The shields were up, she saw, and it was being attacked. The image dissolved as quickly as it had formed, and Lizenne frowned.

“ _...thur sa, tahe moq, ha beph, tahe moq, tanaloranth hora yol...”_

Golden lines moved strangely in an oddly rhythmic pattern, and this resolved into an image of the Lions, galloping together over an unfamiliar terrain. As she watched, they formed Voltron and flashed away to face an unseen foe. Lizenne grunted, and there was grim determination in her voice now.

“ _...amach zu, tahe moq, parach hai, tahe moq, banmitra galath sinitral vash...”_

This time, the black Lion appeared, alone and yet not alone. There were two other figures near its feet, but they were blurry and indistinct, moving in sudden violent bursts. Lizenne's breath hissed between her teeth. The image blurred, cleared, blurred again, and then the images were superimposed over the Lion's in sudden, frightful clarity. Shiro, fighting-mad. Zarkon, obsessed and insane. They melded with the Lion's cephalon, separated, flashing between being and nonbeing in a fury of activity until the Lion roared in rage.

Allura leaped out of hiding and fired her weapon; the witch's eyes flashed open, and the bolt was deflected away by a hard spark of golden light. Another gold flash lanced out and the stunner came apart in Allura's hand; this did not stop her from tackling Lizenne bodily to the floor.

Alteans are tougher than they look. Despite appearing to be as slender as a reed and as delicate as fine lace, Allura was perfectly capable of picking the Paladin of her choice up and breaking him over her knee. Lizenne went over easily, the golden lights vanishing; the only lights in the room now were her furious eyes.

Galra were no slouches where it came to physical strength either. Lizenne was used to an active life, and had kept herself fit. Allura had taken her by surprise, but the shock wore off very quickly. Allura soon found herself trying to deal with a furious bundle of sinew and whipcord that could see far better in the dark than she could. Allura fought grimly for supremacy against her worst nightmare until a powerful kick to her hip forced her away. “You fool girl, what is this all about?” a harsh voice snarled out of the darkness, barely recognizable as Lizenne's.

“Filthy witch, I will not allow you to curse my Paladins!” Allura snapped back, flowing to her feet. “I will have you spaced for this. Lights on!”

The room flashed alight, showing that Lizenne had also regained her feet, and they sprang at each other in a fury. Allura was grimly pleased to find that her foe had been as well-drilled in unarmed combat as she had; part of her would have been terribly disappointed if this had been too easy. Lizenne seemed to feel the same way and attacked without mercy.

 

Outside the door, seven figures, five in armor, one who fiddled constantly with his mustache, and one furry, purple, and worried waited, listening to the shrieks and curses of a first-class catfight. Lance fidgeted slightly. “Think we should go in there?”

“No,” the others chorused.

“But what if they start ripping each other's clothes off?” Lance said hopefully, “I mean, I wouldn't want to miss— _mph.”_

Shiro's right hand, the one made of metal, had clamped over his face. “That's enough. They need to work this out for themselves.”

“Shh, I'm trying to listen,” Hunk hissed. “Hey, Modhri, what does _gorzebek_ mean?”

“You aren't old enough to be told,” Modhri said, wincing at the bad language being traded around in there.

 

Lungs heaving, the two angry women strained against each other, scratched and bruised and nearly out of energy. _“Cantik bar vash,_ you miserable little _bitra,_ I wasn't cursing the Paladins,” Lizenne panted, trying for a chokehold.

Allura wriggled out of that grip, tried for purchase on Lizenne's shoulder, and felt her sweating hands slide uselessly through the short, soft fur there. “Using them, then. You're trying to control them, to use them for your own ends, you _gorok!aus.”_

“So are you,” Lizenne growled. “So is Voltron. So is the whole bloody universe. Not one of those children were given a choice in this, nor are they likely to be given one. Slaves to a purpose, every one of them.”

Allura snarled in fury and hooked a leg around Lizenne's knee, trying to upset her balance. _“I_ am not using them for anything!”

Lizenne dropped, trapping Allura's foot between ankle and thigh and bringing her down hard on her rump. “Lies, girl. You're using them, all right. Think I'm blind? You avenge yourself on my people every time they run out and play with those overgrown cats of theirs. Every time they break a ship, Galra die. Weregild for your own lost father.”

“Galra destroy everything they touch, and what they don't destroy, they enslave!” Allura gasped, twisting free and lunging again, “My Father died trying to stop them!”

“And failed, dooming both your people and mine!” Lizenne hissed and blocked her grab, flipping her neatly to the floor again. “If that fool had assembled Voltron and squashed Zarkon flat when he had the chance, trillions of lives would have been spared. Yours is not the only people who risk extinction, and others have gone to the grave before us as testament to his stupidity. Mine may well follow.”

“What do you mean, the Galra are facing extinction?” Allura panted, glaring daggers at her rival. “Nothing of the sort! You swarm in your billions while my people--”

“For now.” Lizenne's voice was dead, and sounded like it wanted to spread that around. “Only for now. Voltron will very likely defeat Zarkon. Even if it doesn't, something else will. Zarkon is the one unifying force holding the Empire together. He is the Eternal Emperor, and all other peoples grovel in terror before him. How will they react, do you think, when he is no longer there?”

Allura gasped, realizing the dreadful truth. Her own history held numerous examples of what had happened to despotic regimes when the tyrant died. This would be far, far worse.

Lizenne smirked. “Yes, you can see it now, can't you? Most of what the rest of the universe sees of us is our military, a greedy, thieving, murderous pack of tyrants as ever one could hope to avoid. The subject peoples see the Emperor, and hear him, and fear his engines of destruction. Worse, the Governors that Zarkon has set to administer them abuse them freely and without fear of retribution, and not one of those fools can hope to support his authority without the Emperor's forces backing him up. My people will be slaughtered in revenge for what that miserable madman has both done and not done, and not even Voltron, not even you, will be able to convince several thousand blood-crazed peoples to stop.” Lizenne bared her teeth. “The best that I can hope for is either exile or captivity. The most likely is oblivion. You, at least, will still have a home to go back to. I very much doubt that I will.”

“Many would say that it was well-deserved,” Allura growled.

“It is.” Lizenne said with a simple matter-of-factness that brought the Princess up short. “What has been done is unforgivable. The problem is that the innocent will get lined up and shot along with the guilty. Is it the fault of the cubs, girl, if their fathers and uncles have been committing atrocities? Will the common folk be forgiven the sins of the mighty? They will not. The mob does not care, and it does not make distinctions. Without the Empire to keep the peace, there will be no law, only the mob. You will be fighting that mob for the rest of your life, and the Paladins will be your tools. You may have to build a new Empire of your own, just to keep general war from breaking out. That's how ours got started. Zarkon was forced to form his own empire out of the ashes of the old Domains in order to keep my people from destroying themselves, and in time became precisely what he had fought against in the beginning.”

Allura shivered, and tears began to trickle down her cheeks. “Then what is it all for? What's it all for?”

A pair of soft-furred arms encircled her shoulders, and Allura collapsed weeping on Lizenne's breast. “Heroes,” Lizenne chuckled. “Lovely people, but they never think far enough ahead. To vanquish evil, of course. To remove from the field the great villains, the world-killers, the unconquerably power-mad. It probably won't be quite as bad as I've made it out to be, but you'll have your fill of petty tyrants and bloodthirsty crowds before long. Hmph. And I haven't even touched on the infighting that will go on over the power vacuum that Zarkon will leave behind him. There are at least ten or twenty princes hanging around, all of whom are potential figureheads and leaders of powerful and greedy factions. Ah, politics! That's why I ran away from home as soon as I got my pilot's license.”

Allura sniffled. “Then why do you want to help us, if Voltron's triumph means disaster for the Galra?”

Lizenne sighed and patted her head. “Think, girl. Disaster will happen anyway. If Voltron does manage to pull it off, then the Paladins—and you—will gain the people's respect. They will grant you favors and do as you ask. If we help you, you will realize that no one race has the sole rights to either evil or virtue, and you might ask the Empire's former subjects to spare the innocent. Probably in return for the disposal of the guilty, I'm afraid, and that's going to get rather nasty in spots. I'm willing to play for simple survival, since the status quo will no longer be possible to maintain. I want a place for my children in this universe, one that is not a cage in a zoo somewhere, or in a display case in a museum. Can you allow us that?”

Allura nodded, leaning back. “I think so. I'm sorry.”

“No more than I.” Lizenne said, rolling a shoulder with a crackle of sore joints. “It's a tremendous responsibility for both of us, and we may not survive it.”

Allura rested her elbows on her knees, eyeing Lizenne narrowly. “I still don't like or trust Galra. That's a personal problem that I'm just going to have to deal with.”

Lizenne laughed, a rusty, parched sound. “Fine! Go ahead, it's an attitude that will serve you well for the time being. You annoy me too, by the way. Just don't make sweeping generalizations anymore, and I'll be happy.”

“Right. So... what exactly were you doing, anyway? Before I interrupted, I mean.”

Lizenne growled under her breath and flopped down on her back on the floor. “I was attempting to scry—to get a peek at the future. I'm not at all good at it, and I'm going to be annoyed with you for a while for breaking up the most successful session that I've had in years. Even so, all I can reliably say about it is that there is going to be a lot of action. And that Shiro is going to have a very great deal of difficulty in keeping his Lion. Hah. That big cat is going to have to make a choice as well.”

“Will you try again?” Allura asked.

Lizenne waved a hand. “No. Not now. Later, maybe, when things have quietened down a little. To observe something is to change it, and there are too many lines of probability starting to come to a head right now to poke around at random. Besides, wrestling with you has worn me out. I would far rather clean up and take a nap... oops, and mend my shirt. Hmm, you too, Allura. After giving the boys listening out there in the hall a few minutes to clear off before we have to kick them around, of course.”

There was a faint, _“Oops! Busted!”_ from the hall, and a whispered _“Run!”,_ and a soft clatter of hurrying feet.

Allura giggled. “How could you tell?”

Lizenne tugged at one ear. “These aren't just for show. Come on, I want a drink. You will too, I expect.”

Allura realized that she was parched and sore. “Yes, I think so. We've still got some numvill, and I could really use a cup.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kokochan: *still smoking lightly* Thanks to everyone who has given kudos and comments! It's going to be a bit before the next chapter because the story is fighting us, but there's going to be Drama!  
> Spanch: Don't wanna write Drama...  
> Kokochan: Drama is important! It can't all be humor!  
> Spanch: Drama can kiss my--  
> Kokochan: *grabs the bayard and tases smart-mouthed co-author*  
> Spanch: X_X


	5. Sometimes, All Of The Options Suck

Chapter 5: Sometimes, All Of The Options Suck

 

“How much longer, Coran?” Pidge asked.

Coran didn't reply immediately, and she ground her teeth in frustration. The Empire did not treat its captives well, and Pidge did not like how long it was taking to mend the damage that they'd done to her father. Matt had come out of his own healpod this morning, his injured leg sound and pain-free, even though he was still thinner than she liked. The group of prisoners that she and Shiro had rescued had taken over a week to recover, and she did not want to have to wait that long to hug her father again.

“He's coming along as well as can be expected,” Coran said. “You're a resilient bunch, but his system's been under a lot of strain for over a year, and the broken bones and bruised organs didn't help. Personally, I'd say he's in excellent shape for a chap who came that close to becoming a monster's breakfast. He should be out any time now, actually. Should I ask Shiro to bring you a snack from the kitchen?”

Pidge closed her eyes and heaved a deep, calming breath. “All right. Enough for two, please. I'm not leaving this room until I can leave it with him. Where's Matt?”

Coran smiled. “In the kitchen. Turns out that Galra and Humans can eat a lot of the same things, so Lizenne's been teaching Hunk cosmic cookery. Matt's volunteered to test the results. Making up for lost time, I figure. I'll just go and see if he left you any.”

Pidge nodded and sat down at the foot of her father's healpod as Coran made his way out. Matt had always had a healthy appetite. After roughly a year and a half of short and not terribly nutritious rations, any kitchen run by Hunk would be a happy little annex of Heaven for him. Pidge scrubbed at gritty eyes with the heels of her hands and tried to feel triumphant; after all, she'd recovered her family despite quite literally astronomical odds, but all she wanted to do was weep. Stress, she knew, and relief, and lack of sleep was causing that. Some part of her mind hadn't quite been able to process the fact that her long search was over, and she'd been having nightmares of losing her father and brother again for the past three nights in a row. Just to defy them, she'd spent most of her time in the infirmary, guarding them against whatever the whims of Fate might throw at them. Shiro and the others had come in now and then to keep her company, but for the most part her vigil had been a lonely one. Once her father was out of that pod and poking around the Castle—and once she'd had a decent night's rest—she'd be able to revel in her achievements. Pidge leaned back against the healpod and tried to relax. She'd won. It was a small win, but any win against an entire evil Empire was a win well won.

She was actually starting to nod off when Shiro and Matt came in, Matt with a fistful of beverage packets and Shiro carrying a large mixed platter of something that smelled delicious. Matt looked better, she noticed, and from the residual smear of something pink on his chin, had probably stuffed himself. Someone, probably Lance, had run him by the Castle's auto-tailor as well, and he had exchanged the black bodysuit and ragged tunic for the Altean equivalent of a T-shirt and shorts.

“Hi,” he said, sitting down beside her and motioning Shiro to do the same. “How's Dad?”

“Coran says he's almost done,” Pidge replied, glancing up at the sleeping figure in the pod and reaching for a crisp-fried something from the platter. “He can't give me a better estimate than that, though.”

“Count your blessings,” Shiro said with a smile and handed her a beverage packet. “At home, he'd probably be laid up for a month. I'm willing to wait a few more hours instead. How are you doing?”

Pidge nibbled at the fried thing and discovered that she was hungrier than she'd thought. “Tired. A little depressed. I shouldn't be, but I am. Does that happen often?”

Shiro leaned back with a sigh. “It's not uncommon for a victory to seem anticlimactic. Keep eating, it'll help some.”

Matt snickered, and then burped. “Hunk's having too much fun in the kitchen right now with that Galra lady. They're only making little things, but they're making _all_ the little things, and all of it's good. I'm stuffed, Lance is in a food coma, and Keith's getting there. Even the dragons are starting to fill up.”

Pidge giggled and grabbed a square of something green. “How about Coran and the Princess?”

Shiro shook his head. “Allura's still too wary of Lizenne to eat something she made, and Coran's keeping her company. I don't blame her, really.”

Matt blinked up at him in confusion. “Did a Galra bite her when she was little or something?”

“You could say that,” Shiro rubbed at his battle-arm reflectively. “The Galra killed her parents, destroyed her homeworld, and nearly drove her people to extinction. I don't know any of the details beyond that, but it left an impression on her that isn't going to wear off in a hurry.”

Matt shivered. “There's a lot of that going around. We used to hear a lot of that while working in the Shipyard. This planet over there staged an uprising and was destroyed, that alien race over there wouldn't pay the tributes and got eradicated, another somewhere else got defeated and was enslaved... and one of the soldiers said that ours was next. That was probably meant just to scare us, he was that kind of guy, but I'm worried.”

Pidge wrapped an arm around his shoulders in an attempt to comfort him. “I won't let them, Matt. _We_ won't let them. I've got a big robot cat that says--”

There was a fizzle from the healpod, and the screen dissolved. Sam Holt was lowered gently onto his feet and he blinked blearily around himself. “What happened?” he muttered groggily, taking an uncertain step forward and tripped over Pidge.

Shiro was up in a flash and caught him before he could land face-first on the floor. “Easy, Sam, I've got you. You're safe. How are you feeling?”

“Mrph,” Sam said, his face jammed into Shiro's shoulder. He managed to get his legs untangled enough to straighten up a bit, and gazed into Shiro's face with a huge smile of joy and relief. “Shiro? _Shiro!_ You made it! You're alive! I never thought that I'd see you again. That filthy arena... what happened to your arm?”

His hand had grasped Shiro's right arm and had found metal instead of muscle. Shiro smiled bitterly and flexed the hand. “That filthy arena, and the ones running it. It could have been a lot worse. I'm not the only lucky one here, Sam. Sit down and hug Katie, and grab some snacks while I tell you what's been going on since we were separated.”

“Katie? That's right, she was—oof!”

Sam suddenly had a huge armful of grinning daughter, her own arms clamped tight around his torso. “Hi, Dad!” she said, tears streaming down her face, “I found you!”

Sam sank down to his knees, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and holding on tight. “My hero,” he whispered roughly into her ear. “How did you wind up out here, too? It couldn't have been a search party, the Kerberos mission was the longest-range that Humanity's ever gone on, and it's only been a year. They can't possibly have put together a stardrive in a year... Oh, God, Katie. You weren't kidnapped too, were you? How's your mother?”

Pidge giggled damply, wiping her face on her father's shirt. “Last I saw her, Mom was fine. I got kidnapped, but not by Galra.”

“By who, then?” Sam asked.

“By a Lion...”

 

By the time the tale had been told, the platter was empty and Sam was looking slightly shell-shocked. “And I'd thought that Matt and I were having a harrowing space adventure. Katie, when I told you that I knew that you were going to be doing something great with your life... well, I hadn't imagined this! Are you really going to topple an absolute ruler?”

“We're going to give it our best shot,” Pidge said, snuggling closer; her arm was starting to ache from holding onto her father, but she didn't care. “Zarkon's got a lot to answer for, and we're going to make him pay.”

Matt smirked. “Kick his butt a few times for me, okay? Those work camps are really awful. Hey, Katie, can we see your Lion? Dad had already passed out when we left the Shipyard, and I just saw this huge robot chopping warships to bits. I'd like to see your part up close.”

Pidge glanced at Shiro, who nodded. “Sure, I can do that. She might not let you look under the hood, but there's nothing wrong with admiring her. I do it that the time.”

Shiro opted to take the platter back to the kitchen, leaving Pidge to lead her family to the green Lion's hangar, knowing full well that they needed some private time to reconnect. Pidge was thankful for that, and she hurried her kin along to the express lift, and was further gratified by the way their faces lit up when they got their first look at the Lion. Sam Holt looked up, and then further up at the magnificent machine sitting before them in the hangar bay and let out a long, awed exhalation. “My god, Katie. She's beautiful. And she's yours?”

Pidge grinned hugely, inordinately proud of her Lion. Green wasn't the biggest or the most impressive, but she was indispensable, and she was all hers. “Yup. I'm still learning how to fly her, but I'm making progress.”

Her father stepped forward and laid a hand on one great metal forepaw, his amber eyes devouring every detail, while Matt trotted around to one side to study the articulation of the joints.

“I've heard of these,” Sam murmured, craning his neck to peer at the articulation in the green Lion's body. “The guards and overseers used to talk about them all the time, especially after you took down that first monster. Talscott would go on for hours about them, especially if he'd been drinking. Very little is actually known about how the Lions were built and what made them tick, but he had files and files of educated guesses. You'd know more than anybody else at this stage.”

“Not really,” Pidge admitted. “I've been studying her whenever I can, but I don't dare dig too deep. If I break her, there's no garage that can fix her, and the Lion can defend herself if she wants to.”

“Can she?” Matt asked, turning to gaze curiously at his sister.

She nodded. “They're alive, guys. Not exactly like us, but... well, they've got their own ideas about how to do things, and they won't teach us everything all at once. There's no manual, so we have to play by the Lions' rules. They speak to us, sort of, like telepathic messages. Feelings. I'll be flying around and just suddenly _know_ how something works. Sometimes they'll do things all on their own, especially if we're in danger. We have to form a close bond—an emotional bond—with them, or nothing works. They don't take in any fuel and they repair themselves when they get banged around. I'm not even exactly sure how we steer them. I mean, there are hand controls in the cockpits, but we've all been just... sort of shoving them around however we feel like it.”

“An intuitive system?” Sam asked.

Pidge shrugged helplessly. “Either that or the controls are all for show, and we're controlling them with our minds. Or it's magic. I hope not. Magic doesn't exactly make good science, Dad.”

He chuckled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Oh, I don't know. How did that old saying go... oh, yes: _Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic._ A hundred years ago, hoverscoots would have seemed like a miracle to many people. Two hundred years ago, people would have looked at you funny if you told them that men would walk and even live on the Moon. Three hundred years ago, powered aircraft were purest fantasy. Four hundred years ago, harnessing lightning was a fool's dream. That Lion is magical to us for the moment; it may be a child's toy a hundred years from now.”

“She's not a toy, Dad,” Pidge said quietly, leaning into his embrace and remembering how easily her Lion had destroyed other spacecraft. “Voltron won't ever be a toy.”

He grinned irreverently at her. “Except for the millions and millions of little plastic ones that your adoring fans will treasure. Will you get an action figure of yourself? How about ones of your friends?”

“I'd buy them!” Matt said with a grin. “That's what I want for my next birthday, Dad. I want the whole set and the Green Paladin Halloween costume, too.”

Pidge gurgled a laugh and buried her face in her father's side, wrapping her arms about his waist. In truth, she could barely believe that her family was here and alive, warm and solid and real after so long, and that was even more magical than the Lions were. “Nobody out here is going to be making Voltron action figures, Matt. Not for sale to the general public. Zarkon would freak out and destroy somebody's planet if he found out about it.”

“I'm going to buy some,” her father teased gently. “I'll reserve the whole set, and get you a Zarkon plushie to kick across the room whenever you feel like it.”

She poked him in the ribs. “I'll hold you to that. Get me the biggest and ugliest one they've got. Just like that giant stuffed eggplant you won at that carnival once.”

Sam laughed. “I remember that! You were... what, nine years old at that time? Matt dared me to try the Lucky Toss game after I said that it was rigged, and I won. How he laughed at that, and then carried it around for the rest of the night.”

Matt giggled. “We could barely fit it into the car, and you threatened to strap me to the hood if I couldn't get it in. I cheated by letting one end hang out of the window.”

Sam grinned at his son. “It's just as well that we didn't pass any cyclists on the way home, wasn't it? And then the very next day, you and your sister jumped up and down on it until the seams burst, and Gunther spread the stuffing all over the living room.”

“Mom blew up.” Pidge sighed, and winced anew at the long-ago scolding. “I'd never seen her that mad. I miss her.”

Her father sobered, and his eyes grew sad. “So do I. I can only imagine how she feels right now.”

Pidge clasped her father's hand in her own and stood there for a long moment, the pair leaning on each other for comfort. “Hopeful, I think,” she murmured eventually. “We sent some messages home with Lizenne. She says she delivered them to the Academy right in the middle of a press conference.”

“Mmm,” Sam hummed thoughtfully, stroking her hair. “Can you trust her?”

“I think so. She and Modhri got you and Matt back for us.”

Sam heaved a deep breath and raised his eyes to gaze at the Lion again. “They did. All the same, be careful. If there is anything that the past year has taught me, it's that the Galra are dedicated hunters. Those two might be your friends for the moment, but they have their own agenda, count on that. Once they're committed to doing something, Galra don't give up.”

Pidge nodded. “We know. They'll be leaving as soon as we find a decent shipyard. Allura would prefer it if they kept their distance, anyway.”

Sam snorted in amusement at that. Having heard of their experiences with the vicious Sendak and his equally-unpleasant henchman only a little time ago, he could relate. “The Princess has her reasons, poor girl,” Sam said quietly, “I don't envy her at all. Do you think that your Lion would let me have a look at the controls?”

Pidge let go of her father with reluctance. “Maybe. Let's find out.” She knocked on the Lion's forepaw and called out, “Green? Can I show my Dad how awesome you are inside?”

The Lion didn't move, and Sam let out a faintly relieved laugh. “I get it. She's your ride, not mine. Besides, if I did get too good a look, I might wind up building my own, eh?” He cast a wistful look up at the feline cephalon. “Take care of my little girl, Green. I want her back in one piece when all of this is done with.”

The Lion didn't react to that either, but he wasn't really expecting a reply.

Matt humphed into the leonine silence, and then noticed Pidge's workbench off to one side, piled with bits and pieces of Sentry and other mechanical trash. “Hey, you've been studying, too! I spent weeks building those things. Want some tips?”

“Sure,” Pidge said, and followed him over to the bench.

They were still fiddling happily around with the dented chassis of a Sentry when the PA system sent Shiro's voice echoing around the room. _“Pidge? Sam? Matt? I hate to disturb you, but Allura's called a conference in the main lounge. We need to figure out what to do next before the Empire decides to do it for us.”_

Pidge reached over and pressed the “reply” button. “We're on our way,” she answered, and followed that up with a quiet, “drat.”

Sam chuckled and put down his screwdriver. “Reminds me of when I was working in the Science Institute. There were so many forward planning meetings that we never got anything done. A little impatient, isn't she?”

Pidge sighed and began putting away her tools. “Yeah, but it's sort of necessary. Right now, the only advantage we've got is speed. Let's go and see what we can do.”

 

“Think she'll stay?” Lance said quietly, leaning back against the couch's cushions. “I mean, her search is over and all, and she said that that was the only reason why she was out here...”

“I hope so, we need her,” Keith said. “We'll probably have to swing by Earth anyway to take the others home, but I think that we should all at least get a choice.”

Hunk groaned. “Don't tempt me, man. Don't even mention it within a lightyear of my Grandma. You'll start an argument that'll probably last all year.”

Lance puffed a faint laugh. “Or my folks. That would start a civil war that would probably wind up raising Castro's ghost. Again. My Mom and my aunts would all want me back, and my uncles would all want a space hero in the family. Not that I'd mind being a space hero, but where I come from, you don't cross your aunts unless it's a matter of life and death. And my cousins! Don't talk to me about cousins! You haven't seen a real riot unless you've seen my cousins riled up about something!”

Shiro couldn't help but smile at that. “If you hadn't noticed, it _is_ a matter of life and death. If Zarkon isn't stopped, and soon, it's life or death for everyone.”

Hunk leaned forward in his seat, looking worried. “Yeah, but if she does leave, we're going to have to find a replacement, and one that her Lion'll accept. Sure, everyone on Earth will want to give it a try, but there's no guarantee that the Lion will want anyone else.”

Coran tugged soberly at his mustache. “It's a big problem. The Lions are picky, very picky about who they allow at their controls. After all, Voltron's the greatest battle machine in the known universe, and you don't just let any slob fly something like that. It's a bit odd that they all chose Paladins from one planet, really. All of the other teams were very mixed. Why, there was one team that was made up of a Krebalto, an Abyoran, a Sssloo, a Tlurbau, and a Ebathi, and just doing the catering required a staff of over a hundred specially-trained culinary artists! And, as I recall, the Tlurbau was a devout Plorsite while the Sssloo was a born-in-the-bone atheist, the Krebalto smoked like a volcano—really smoked, he was a fire-breather—and the Ebathi insisted on having potted plants all over the place that gave everyone else a rash.”

Everyone stared at him. “And what did the Abyoran do?” Hunk asked.

Coran shrugged. “Made a mess his private workshop. He was a sculptor, and quite a good one. Damn good team. Shame about that ambush.”

“Yeah, but how many cadets decided to quit?” Keith asked. “This isn't an easy job, you know.”

“None,” Allura replied. “Whole Academies were dedicated to training cadets for the Lions, so that they would always have the best and brightest to choose from. There were thousands, even tens of thousands of young warriors hoping to qualify for five seats, and all very dedicated.”

Coran raised a finger. “Yes, but there was that one time when the red Lion ignored all the qualified candidates—had to have been a couple hundred of 'em—and flew two miles east to a roadside convenience store and chose a seventy-eight-year-old janitor. Kind of upset everybody, including the janitor, but it all worked well enough in the end. Best right arm Voltron ever had.”

Allura gave him a withering glare for the interruption and continued. “Past a certain point in their training, the Lions would not release their chosen Paladins even if they had wanted to quit. I'm not sure how far along the green Lion judges Pidge to be; to any but their own, the Lions will not speak. She may have no choice but to stay with us, and that goes for the rest of you as well.”

Lance smiled. “Fine with me. Blue and I get along just fine, and I'm not giving her up. She's the one really cool thing I've got that hasn't been manhandled by six or seven cousins first. I'd at least like to visit my folks, if only to show off a little.”

“That may not be possible,” Shiro said. “In fact, that's probably a very bad idea.”

“What is?” Pidge asked, walking in with her father and brother at her side.

Allura raised a hand in greeting. “Showing off, which Lance enjoys rather too much. Make yourselves comfortable, please, and introduce us to your father.”

Sam Holt was perfectly willing to be introduced to a genuine alien Princess and her lone courtier, and Hunk and Lance were happy to make his acquaintance as well. He also turned and dipped a small bow to the other two people sitting in on this discussion; Lizenne and Modhri had been included more out of courtesy than anything else, and the pair had acknowledged that by sitting very quietly to one side.

“I didn't get to say this earlier,” Sam said soberly, “but thank you for rescuing us. You arrived just in time.”

The two Galra smiled to hear that. “Thank your daughter for setting us on your trail,” Lizenne replied with a wink in Pidge's direction. “We would never have found you otherwise.”

Matt wrapped his arms around his sister. “I'll take care of that. Thank you, Katie!”

Sam smiled at that, but his eyes remained serious. “I still have to ask, though—why are you helping her? I asked that before, but your man there didn't have time to explain earlier.”

Lizenne did not answer immediately, gazing thoughtfully at the assembled Paladins and Alteans for a moment before speaking. “Several reasons, the most important of which is that Voltron has come out of hiding at last, and it must not fall into the hands of the Emperor. Nothing causes disaster like loss and strife within a new team. By rescuing you, we have prevented a very great deal of heartbreak and drama that your daughter and her friends simply cannot afford right now.” Her lips twisted into a wicked smile. “It also allowed me to stab a Druid, and the less of those there are flapping about, the better. That's not important right now; what is important is that you have regained your freedom, and what you intend to do with it from this point on.”

“Yeah, that's a toughie,” Hunk said. “I suppose they could stay with us. The Castle's nice, but it's big and really empty, and if it gets haunted again I'd like to have some more people around to panic with. Hey, Allura, can we keep them?”

Lance nodded, liking that idea. “We could use a couple of trained scientists aboard. There's too much about, well, everything that we don't know.”

“We could use the backup,” Keith said, “and they know more about the enemy than we do.”

Pidge shook her head. “I'd rather that we take them home. We're in serious danger out here, guys, and I want them back home where it's safer. Besides, if Mom ever finds out that I could have brought them back and didn't, she'd _walk_ out here and kick all of our butts.”

“She'd do it, too,” Matt said with a worried look at his father. “We need to go home, Dad, and not just because of Mom.”

Sam rubbed at his eyes and nodded. “We do. Lizenne, you did deliver those messages, right?”

She nodded. “In as loud and public a manner as I could manage on short notice, yes. They were having what looked to be a press conference, and there were something like two hundred eager reporters and recording specialists getting vids of my ship. I didn't land and hand the packet off in person—too much opportunity for misunderstandings there—but your world is now well-aware that aliens do exist. Those that haven't convinced themselves that it was all a hoax, of course.”

Matt grunted in disgust. “There's always someone. You didn't stay any longer than that?”

“We couldn't,” Lizenne replied. “There was a heavy cruiser patrolling the outer planets, and I didn't want to draw any attention to what we were doing. The blue Lion was spotted on that planet, remember, and if anyone is seen to be showing unwarranted interest in that world, it will get back to the Emperor, and then _he_ might take an interest. Right now, he's focused on finding you, not on your people. Let's keep it that way.”

Sam looked up with a determined expression on his face. “That's why we have to go home, and as soon and as secretly as possible. Like Keith said, we know more about the Galra and their technology than any other Human does. Earth _must_ have that knowledge, especially now that the Empire's going to build the Bagantush Destroyer.”

“The what?” Coran asked.

“The Bagantush Destroyer,” Modhri said quietly, surprising them all; he'd been so unobtrusive that they'd forgotten that he was there. “Prorok and his party finally got the funding for that thing, then? I wonder how they snuck that past Haggar... no, wait, it was probably the destruction of that Robeast that did it.”

“What do you mean, Modhri?” Allura demanded. “What is this Destroyer?”

Modhri leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. He had spent the past several days resting in the cabin he shared with Lizenne recovering from his efforts during the rescue, and so hadn't been available to speak. “The Empire has a small fleet of very large warships that people generally refer to as 'planet-busters', and that's what they do. If the Emperor decides that a particular planet has outlived its usefulness, he sends one or two of them out, and very soon that planet is nothing more than a spreading debris field. There are only a dozen or so of them, and they're very expensive to power and use. The Bagantush Destroyer was supposed to render the lot of them obsolete, but building it would require an astronomical amount of money and materials. It's been on and off the drawing board for years.”

“I hadn't heard of that, Modhri,” Lizenne said sharply.

He winced at her tone. “And I was too sick to tell you. I never thought that it would actually go through, anyway. Haggar had a top-secret project in the works that superseded it, and you know that Zarkon favors her.”

Allura had gone very pale. “Tell us now. Tell us everything that you know of it! How did you find out about it?”

Modhri chuckled and straightened up. “I'm a ship tech. Nobody gossips like engineers, Princess, and the smarter of us pay attention to the politics behind the policies. Prorok's a member of the General Staff, answering only to the Emperor himself. He's smart, but he's ambitious, and he doesn't trust sorcery. As a result, he and Haggar are in constant competition for Zarkon's favor. That poor fellow is destined for a sticky end, mark my words. The Bagantush Destroyer's been his pet project for something like eight or nine years now. I've actually seen the blueprints once. It's a massive project; something like three or four planets would have to be dismantled completely to provide the materials, and the power core would be the largest ever built. Zarkon must have been more than a little disappointed with Haggar's recent failures if he's giving Prorok the go-ahead.”

Sam nodded. “So I've heard. I've also heard that the planets have already been picked out. Sandramin, Vosp, and Harparone. All three of them are living worlds that have resisted Imperial control. Atelka Shipyard is going to be building some of the parts for the Destroyer, and Talscott and his best engineers were very excited about it.”

“Do they have those plans yet?” Pidge asked.

Sam shook his head. “Not yet. There were some parts of them that needed more tweaking, and that's being done at the Center, where all the best planners are. Talscott was saying that they'd be getting them in maybe a month or so. With something that big, everything has to be done right the first time. Even with several Shipyards working on the parts nonstop, it'll still take a long time to put together. They're also going to want to test it out when it's completed. If we can get Earth's governments moving in the right direction, we may be able to defend ourselves in the event that Zarkon decides to do something about Earth. Or at least, enough of us will be able to escape to continue the race somewhere else if we do lose the planet. Some of the Kepler planets should be habitable, maybe.”

Lance gurgled in horrified disgust. “I am _not_ losing Earth, I keep all my stuff there! There's only one copy of those plans, right? They can't build the ship without the instructions. How about we go and steal the instructions?”

“ _We_ can't,” Hunk said firmly. “If they're keeping them in the Center, that's gotta be, like, the most heavily-guarded part of the Empire. We'd be handing the Lions to them on a silver platter! It's too dangerous, guys. We just aren't good enough at fighting with Voltron yet.”

“But three whole planets are going to die, along with everyone on them!” Matt protested. “Lizenne, you're Galra, can you do something?”

Lizenne gestured a negative. “After the mess we caused getting you two loose? No. I've already been branded as a rogue witch and a traitor—I checked just this morning. As of a few hours ago, my family disowned me and declared me dead; if I put one foot in the halls of Parzurak I'll land in Haggar's lab instantly, and nobody that matters will know or care what happens to me from that point on. I'd be lucky if they just killed me. If I can get a new ship soon, I might be able to find out which Shipyards will get those contracts and do a bit of constructive sabotage, but that's all.”

“That isn't good enough,” Keith said, “those three planets will still be destroyed. We have to do something!”

“I can do it,” Modhri said.

“ _What?”_ Lizenne squawked, and everyone turned to stare at him.

He smiled thinly at their astonished faces. “I can do it, and all I will need is the right uniform, the right tools, shuttle fare, and a little fancy flying. You forget; I am an engineer. For a time, I was a captain. I know the necessary levels of the Center intimately. I can manufacture an ID easily. I haven't been there in over a year, and my appearance has changed considerably since my downfall. I know for certain that nobody will notice me in any case; the engineering levels swarm with personnel, the roster is always changing, and it's not your name that matters, it's your rank. I've never been particularly noteworthy, and they aren't aware that I'm part of this group. Or anywhere. Dead, destroyed, and burned, remember? I doubt very much that Lizenne allowed anyone to see her when she rescued me.”

Lizenne snorted. “Oh, they saw me, all right. They saw a young soldier who had drawn the short straw for fetching samples for Haggar's Druids. Believe me, nobody wanted to inspect that crate, for fear of finding parts of someone they'd known in it!”

“Which is what new recruits are for, doing all the jobs that the more experienced soldiers prefer to avoid.” Modhri scowled. “I certainly did my share of those. Allura, all that you will need to do is set me down on the nearest planet to the Center that we can manage without getting caught. I'll buy a seat on a transport shuttle like any other traveler, and make my way from there. If all goes well, you'll pick me up from that same planet a little time later. Give me a communicator, and I can call you for a ride. The whole trip shouldn't take more than a day or two.”

“Modhri, no,” Lizenne growled. “You're not strong enough for this yet. If you run into trouble, we won't be able to help you!”

He laid a reassuring hand on hers. “Strength is not the issue. Wits are, and you've done wonders for those. This is my area of skill and no one else here is able.” His golden eyes flashed and his voice took on a hint of steel, and no few of the others wondered what Modhri had been like before Haggar had broken him. “Will you condemn billions of innocent people to a horrible death to prevent mine? I will do this, Lizenne. I will be careful, but if the Paladins will provide me with what I need to do it, I will do this. I have seen planets destroyed before, and I will not permit it to happen again, not if there is any way that I can stop it.”

She glared at him, then sighed. “Never let it be said that you lack courage. Good sense, perhaps, but truth is not always sensible. Just bear in mind that if this does go bad, I may well do something drastic. I've put far too much effort into preserving you to lose you now. You are  _mine,_ Modhri, and I will not lose you again!”

Modhri gave her a sweet smile and kissed her on one cheek. “Your love is my strength, Lizenne. Is my offer acceptable, Princess?”

Allura shivered. “Your sacrifice, you mean. Is there no other way? Pidge is very good at hacking computer systems.”

He shook his head. “No. Sensitive projects of this nature are kept in an isolated databank that has no outside access, and I already know where it is and how to deal with it. I did say that I had seen the plans, remember? Taking her along would be foolish; the only places on that station other than the tourist levels where non-Galra people are allowed are the arena pit, the lab deck, and the prison blocks. I must do this alone, if it is to be done at all.”

“Very well, then,” Allura said, squaring her shoulders. “Make a list of what you will need to pull this off, and I will see to it that the Castle provides.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos welcomed and worshipped! We live off that sort of stuff.


	6. Departures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I just want to thank everyone who's left kudos and comments on this story. It's wonderful to see people enjoying what Spanch and I create, and we really, really appreciate it.  
> Second, who's excited for season 3?! We are, even if it's probably going to blow a ton of our personal theories and headcanons to bits.

Chapter 6: Departures

 

It was decided that they would deliver Sam and Matt back to Earth before dropping Modhri off, if only because Earth was closer to them than the Center was at the moment. It still took some time to get there, and not just because of the distance; as Lizenne had pointed out earlier, their home system had hostiles in it, and ones that they couldn't afford to engage. Smashing that cruiser, satisfying though it might have been for some, would just draw unwanted attention. The long-range probes were still unusable despite the efforts of the resident scientists, but one of the short-range probes was still functional; at Matt's suggestion, they stopped at Proxima Centauri and sent the device ahead to have a look around. Sure enough, the Galra cruiser was ghosting around the moons of Neptune for the time being, nearly on the opposite side of the Sun from Earth.

“Probably looking for deposits of exotic minerals,” Lizenne told them. “Pre-starflight civilizations can be boring to have to look after, and cold gas giants often produce interesting things. Not hantalurium, not with just one middling-sized yellow star, but possibly enough takwanite or bolasine to make a little dereliction of duty worthwhile.”

Coran shrugged. “Let 'em search. It'll keep them out of our hair while we sneak in through the back door.”

If a solar system could be said to have a back door, then the Sol System's had been left wide open. Allura brought the Castle in with care, ducking nimbly through Saturn's rings and using Jupiter's gravitational field to give the ship a free boost inward that pushed them through the asteroid belt with no one the wiser. Mars was dimly visible as a reddish point of light in the screens for a long, nervous moment before Allura parked them in orbit on the dark side of Venus. Earth was visible, barely, to the naked eye, as an azure crescent from there. Allura sighed when she saw that shining arc, recalling memories of a happy childhood on her own lost homeworld, and missing it dearly. Coran turned to face her with a grave expression, knowing her thoughts because they mirrored his own.

“Maybe later,” he said quietly, “if things go right. Quolothis was supposed to be a lot like Altea, y'know, and what that probe was able to show us looked promising. The colonists did take the whole terraforming package with them.”

Allura swallowed hard. “It won't be the same. I've been to some of the other colonies before... before this. They were _like_ Altea, but they could never be Altea itself. It was the crown jewel of the Stellar Kingdom.”

Coran nodded and leaned on his console sadly. “I know. Nothing I can do about that, but at least there is something left. Shall I go and tell the boys that we've arrived?”

“Let's have a look at the planet first,” Allura said. “Bring the probe in closer, and let's see if we can plot an approach that will go unnoticed.”

Coran did that, and a little time later they were able to peer thoughtfully at a much-expanded view. “Nice sort of place, I suppose,” Coran said thoughtfully, “though I don't think much of their mountains. Sort of crumpled-up little things, aren't they, and they've got too much ocean. Look at those islands! Nowhere near enough of 'em, and most of them are too small.”

Allura smiled at his affronted tone. “And they've only got the one moon, although it's a nice big one. I wonder what the tides are like.”

“Fairly regular, I should imagine, with a decent moon like that. Let's see, that's the right continent, I think, the two big ones connected by that skinny streak of land there?” Coran indicated the gentle arc of Mexico. “The northern one, I think. Hmm. Almost night-time there now, and with a big weather system moving through the middle of things. I could take them down in the big shuttle through that, and no one the wiser above or below. The Paladins will want to give Sam and Matt a proper sendoff, y'know.”

Allura nodded. “I expect so. Just make sure that you come back with all of them. I'm a little worried about Pidge.”

“I'll do my best, Princess,” Coran promised. “Where is everyone, anyway?”

A quick check of the Castle's levels revealed lifesigns in three locations. Most of them were up in the green Lion's bay, another pair were on the training deck, and two were in a suite in the southern wing. Allura stared at that isolated spot with a faint worried frown until Coran felt the need to comment. “Still unsure about them, eh?”

“I can't help it,” Allura admitted. “They're Galra, Coran, and Galra tend to put the needs of their own kind above those of others.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Coran said cautiously. “They've no love for the Emperor, Modhri especially, and his commanders didn't exactly step up to defend him, now did they? We're just going to have to take that chance. I've been to Harparone once, back in the day. It's a pretty place with nice people, and I'd rather not see them destroyed.”

Forced to concede the point, Allura nodded. Too much was at stake to back out now. If the Bagantush Destroyer did get built, Voltron would have to deal with it in the future, and the thing might or might not be too much for even that mighty battle machine to handle. Her concerns aside, their best course of action was to nip the whole project in the bud. “Acknowledged. Let's get this over with.”

Coran saluted her and headed up to the green Lion's hangar.

He found the Paladins and the two rescuees sitting at their ease near the Lion, sharing a platter of snacks and regaling Sam and Matt with tales of their first days in the castle, laughing and teasing each other about their early clumsiness. Not that they'd progressed all that far, Coran mused, but they'd done very well under the circumstances. Hunk let out a loud hoot of laughter when Lance compared him to a geyser, wiped at streaming eyes, and replied, “Well, yeah, they had it coming. No, seriously, guys, it was the food fight that saved the team. Hey, and there's Food-Goo Geyser Target Number One! What's up, Coran?”

“We've arrived,” Coran said soberly. “Allura's tucked the Castle in safely under that yellow planet next in toward the sun from Earth, but we can't stay long. Sam, Matt, it's time to go home.”

“Can we come too?” Lance asked. “Y'know, just to see them off safely.”

“Allura's given me leave to take you all down in the big shuttle, largely because she knows that she'd have a mutiny on her hands if she didn't. It'll be very fast, a simple dash-and-drop, and then we have to leave. No, you can't take the Lions. That cruisier's still out there, and it'll be specifically watching for them. We can't take any risks.”

Lance scowled at him. “I'd kind of like to visit my family too, you know. Come on, Coran, it won't take all that long, and my Mom's probably freaked out twice by now.”

Hunk raised a hand. “Can we stop at my place, too? We're just down the street, and I really miss them.”

“Can't.” Coran said bluntly. “Family reunions have a habit of extending themselves, and unless you intend to have a lot of furry purple party crashers blowing up the lawn furniture, it's best that we don't take any side trips.”

“No fair!” Lance blurted angrily. “Coran, it's been months! I didn't exactly sign up for this, you know, and while sending letters is nice, it's not good enough! Come on, man, you had family too! You know how it is!”

“Had.” Coran said, all humor gone. “Then the Galra destroyed Altea. All I've got left is the Princess, and maybe a few many-times-great-grandnephews and grandnieces on a blockaded world that I may or may not live long enough to meet.”

“But--”

Shiro laid a hand on Lance's shoulder. “Lance, I'm sorry, but no. We can't take the extra time. The whole point of this trip is to make sure that our families will still be here the next time we swing by. If it makes you feel any better, my own family will probably give me hell for not dropping by either.”

Lance groaned wretchedly. “All right, all right, I hate it, but all right! You're going to owe us vacation time, Coran, at least two weeks of it when we're better at this. No, a month. I want a solid month on the beach with my family, and if Zarkon decides to butt in, we'll kick his ass and then go out for ice cream! We'll have a really big ice cream beach party while someone else cleans up the mess for once, and you're buying the drinks.”

Coran snorted in amusement. “If we can get to the point where we can do that, then I'd be happy to.”

“We'll hold you to that, and you'd better bring a lot of cash, 'cause my uncle can drink an entire biker gang under the table.” Hunk warned him, heaving himself to his feet and turning to Pidge's father. “All right. You guys all ready to go?”

Sam hefted a pack that clonked softly. “Katie's loaded me down with solid proof of alien technology. Other than that, all we've got is what we're wearing.”

Matt shifted uneasily. “Well, and maybe a little something extra. Katie, are you going to come with us, or stay with these guys?”

Everyone went quiet. Pidge was perched on a chair next to one of her Lion's paws, and had been sitting with it tilted up on its back legs with her feet propped on one enormous metal claw. She nearly overbalanced in surprise, recovered before she fell on her head, and stared around with eyes wide in sudden distress. “Um...”

She got no further than that. A deep mechanical growl echoed off of the ceiling high over their heads, and everybody yelped in dismay as the Lion moved on its own. Both huge forepaws slammed down onto the decking on either side of her, and the massive head lowered until it could look Matt right in the eye with the steeliest glare possible. The message was, naturally, very clear.

_MINE,_ said the Lion in the back of Pidge's mind, and that was that.

“Sorry, Matt,” she squeaked. “Green says no.”

Coran was tugging on his mustache again. “Not surprising, not surprising at all, really. You've made a lot of progress since the beginning, you know. Could be worse. I recall one cadet who was chosen by the blue Lion, and very happy to be so, but her mother had other ideas. Wanted to marry the girl off to some rich lad in order to advance the family name a bit, and tried to bully the Lion into letting her go. Didn't work, of course. Half the Castle was sheathed in three feet of ice after that argument, and it took two days to thaw the woman out completely. The scandal channels buzzed about it for weeks. Come along then.”

 

The trip over to Earth was nervous, but uneventful. Coran was an excellent pilot and knew all the tricks where it came to dodging the enemy, and was able to slip them into that big storm system on the night-side of the planet. Unfortunately, there was little he could do about the turbulence. It was late summer down on the plains, and supercell storms were whirling dangerously over the southern and midwestern prairies. It made excellent cover for the shuttle, but Hunk was just glad that Coran had had the foresight to remember to bring along a bucket. Undaunted by the billowing clouds, the roars of thunder and flashes of lightning, unruffled by the rattling hail and pouring rain, Coran took them downward until the land below unrolled like a carpet beneath them, black and spangled with cities that were lit up like galaxies. It was just fortunate that Sam knew where to go, and was able to guide Coran to a large open spot only a little distance from his own front door.

“Willis Park,” Matt said as the shuttle settled down carefully on the wet earth; the hatch slid open, admitting a burst of cool, rain-scented air, a certain amount of spray, a view of sodden turf, an empty street, and the row of pleasant and well-lit houses. “Looks like it's soccer season—the grass is all torn up again. I wonder if the Village is ever going to get that stadium built.”

“Not until the mayor gets those kickbacks he wants from the construction companies,” Sam sighed, hefting his pack. “Weasel. Give me a hug, Katie. I don't know when I'm going to see you again.”

Pidge immediately complied, wrapping her arms around him and holding on tight, then repeated the process for her brother. “Be careful,” she sniffled. “No matter how you go about this, someone is going to try to do something dumb and vanish you guys. I bet a lot of people were upset about our messages.”

Sam smiled. “That's natural. I'll get in touch with Professor MacLeary and Lieutenant Cooper. They'll keep the situation under control.”

Coran shifted in the pilot's seat and held out a small device. “Yeah, and you'll want this. An emergency communicator, just in case the enemy decides to make trouble. Try not to let any mad scientists take it apart, all right?”

Sam took the comm and tucked it into a pocket. “All right. Time to go, Matt.”

“Just one minute,” Matt said, giving Pidge one last squeeze before letting go. “There's a few things I need to say.” He looked around at the Paladins, who were torn between staring yearningly out of the hatch and looking at him. “First, thank you all for rescuing us—we wouldn't be alive right now if not for you and those two Galra. Say thanks to them for us, okay? Secondly, Katie here is my dear, sweet innocent baby sister--”

“Sweet?” Lance muttered.

“Innocent?” added Keith.

“--whom I love very much and have tried to raise up to be as close to being a Human being as possible--”

“Mostly Human,” Hunk snickered as Katie gave her brother a dirty look, “some lab rat in there, though.”

Matt was in full older-brother-teasing-little-sister mode and grinning broadly. “--and I am entirely aware that she's going to be stuck on a starship with four thugs in color-coded underwear for the foreseeable future--”

“Hey,” Hunk protested.

“--and if any of you even try to mix colors with my darling, waiflike, pure, and virginal sister--”

“ _Matt,”_ Pidge said in a voice that promised messy retribution of the sort that only an irate sister could mete out.

“--then I, my father, and my mother will hunt you all down. We've got a hundred lightyears of outer space and some really big shovels. No one will ever find the bodies.”

Shiro was trying not to laugh and not having much luck with that.

Matt smirked at him, seeing a fresh target. “And while we're on that subject, Takashi here is my best friend in the whole universe, although we all know that he's secretly more of the damsel-in-distress type--”

“Now, wait just a minute,” Shiro protested.

“--and if anyone breaks his maidenly heart—and that includes you, Katie; you may look adorable, but underneath it all, you're still a mad scientist and budding supervillain--”

“True,” Pidge admitted.

“--so please keep in mind that I've got a ton of slides in my closet and a really good scalpel. Once again, they'll never find the bodies. Okay, done.”

Stifled snickers from the pilot's seat were barely audible in the ensuing silence. Shiro cocked a sidelong look outside the hatch. “Katie, there seems to be a nice big mud puddle over there.”

Pidge leaned over to have a look. “Yup, quite a good one.”

“I think we should make use of it,” Shiro suggested calmly.

Pidge smiled evilly. “That sounds like an excellent idea. Shall I consider that an order?”

Shiro nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

“Then I will happily accede to my Fearless Leader's command. I'll get one side if you'll get the other.”

Shiro moved to stand near Matt. “Sounds good. Now  _grab...”_

With a yelp, Matt was seized and thrown out into the quagmire with a first-class squelch. Sam leaned out of the hatch and observed, “That was dumb, son.”

“Worth it!” Matt laughed. “Did you _see_ the colors they were turning?”

“Yes, which is why I didn't make any comments.” Sam turned to his friends with a smile. “We'll see you later. Be careful out there, and come back to us in one piece, all right? I'd really like to attend Lance's ice cream beach party later on.”

“We'll make it a date,” Lance promised, and the others agreed. “Good luck, the both of you.”

“Goodbye, Katie,” Sam sighed with one last fond look at his daughter, and then stepped out into the rain to help his son out of the mud.

They waited just long enough to see the pair walk up to a particular door and be welcomed by the person inside. The last sight of her family Pidge had before they left was of three silhouettes wrapped together on the doorstep in a heartfelt embrace, and if she cried a little bit on the trip back to the Castle, nobody mentioned it.

 

A few days later, they were ready to repeat the process with Modhri. He looked quite respectable in the dark blue uniform of a senior engineer that the Castle's autotailor had managed to produce, although he was still underweight, the bones of his face standing up sharply under the skin. He looked and moved as though he were still recovering from a serious illness, which wasn't too far from the truth, although it didn't seem to bother him. “It will add to the camoflage,” he told them reassuringly, “they will respect my dedication to the cause, and it will disguise me further. Who would suspect a fine old fellow like me to break into the high-security databank and start stealing chunks of it?”

“Wiping it, you mean,” Allura told him firmly; she'd been having nightmares of a metal colossus burning the universe bare of life. “Wipe the whole databank, if you can, and corrupt what you don't erase. You might as well foil as many evil plans as you can in one go.”

Lizenne still wasn't happy about it, but she did not get in his way. Instead, she claimed the right to deliver him to the starport hub station in orbit around the Galra-owned colony of Keriopt II; not merely because she would be able to move more freely in such a milieu, but because she kept a locker there.

“I travel widely, and almost constantly,” she told the others, “and I like to keep caches of money and necessities at the better ports. I was a wild youth, and many of those are held under assumed names. Modhri has the key to this one, and the purse in it will get him to the center and bring him back with room to spare. This is the only advantage I can give him right now.”

Nobody cared to disagree with her, and Allura gave him one of the Castle's communicators as well before they headed out in one of the Castle's little scout shuttles. Using certain arts of her own, Lizenne disguised herself well enough to dock without attracting undue attention, and embraced Modhri lingeringly before she allowed him to disembark. “Promise me that you will be careful,” she said, rubbing the soft fur behind his ear. “Promise me that you will come back.”

Modhri sighed and leaned into her caress, holding her gently. “I promise to take all possible care,” he murmured back, “and I will do everything in my power to return to you. Even if it winds up being drastic. It might.”

She gave him a suspicious look. “What do you know?”

Modhri's thin shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “I am not sure. Not long after you rescued me... just after you brought me to Zampedri, in fact, I started dreaming. In those dreams, I was asked to make a choice. I made my choice, Lizenne. That is why I must do this, and I do it so willingly because I had a different dream shortly after that. I was running, strong and healthy and whole beside you, through the tall grasses. It felt so very real.”

Lizenne drew in a sharp breath, knowing full well what that meant. “Very well then. Whatever comes, we will face it together. I suspect that we may have some help along the way.”

Modhri chuckled, considering certain factors. “I do not doubt it. I should go, and I will see you again shortly. Have patience, my Lady.”

“I will need it,” Lizenne muttered darkly.

With one last parting kiss, he shouldered his travel bag and strode out onto the dock, heading into the port with slow but confident steps. He found the storage department where Lizenne had her locker with ease and removed the purse she had stashed there, finding it entirely sufficient to his needs. There was also a small box of assorted gadgets that he took the time to poke through; mostly junk at this stage—she hadn't been to this world in years—but there were a few things that he was glad to see. A universal morph adapter for electronic devices was tucked into his bag, along with a booster cell for situations where a hand-comm might not have enough power to get a message out. There was also a length of data cable that he considered carefully before adding it to his arsenal, and a small utility knife with a forceblade switch, a simple device with a thousand uses. There was also one of Lizenne's travel journals, which made him smile. It was full of odd notes, observations, and the occasional mysterious diagram. He tossed that into his bag as well, for the comfort that it brought. Such things were a part of her, after all, and he deeply disliked being separated from his Lady.

Modhri then sealed the locker back up and caught a hovercab to the main shuttle hub, where he booked passage on a tourist bus to the Center. That sort of thing wasn't unusual, as he very well knew. Even senior engineers couldn't expect a fat pay packet unless they specialized in something exotic, and it was commonplace for them to take the cheapest modes of transport wherever they could. Nobody looked at him twice in the ticket line, nor did anyone on the shuttle, and he spent the trip reading Lizenne's journal. It was quite amusing, really, having been one of her earlier efforts, and was mostly pithy comments concerning certain members of her family or her tutors. There was one account of a long-ago trip to the Center that had not gone particularly well that caught his interest. Apparently, her mother had forced her into taking a tour of Haggar's lab in an attempt to get his Lady to take an interest in the cybernetic sciences; Lizenne had retaliated by eating a whole jar of pickled ledra the night before, and had been foully ill all over a Druid the following day as a result. Uncomfortable and disgusting as the event had been, it had had the desired effect of cutting the visit short. Absurdly encouraged by this example, Modhri arrived at Parzurak Spacehab with a smile on his lips and a spring in his step that would have surprised her very much to see.

Once off the shuttle, Modhri slipped into one of the public restrooms and used the relative privacy to ready his tools. A quick scan of the nearby storage closet told him that they hadn't updated the public-level security measures since he'd last been here. It was the work of a moment to revive his registry, a simple but vital step that would get him up at least three levels before he would have to fiddle with the system again. Modhri smiled again, used the facilities so as to not find himself embarrassed later, and then headed to the nearest personnel lift.

In a way, it was almost like coming home. Atelka Shipyard's apprentice program had taught him much, but it was here that he had learned the point where science became art, and he still prided himself on his touch with the vital systems of large ships. It was here that the best shipwrights plied their craft, designing better and more efficient drives and engines, more durable hulls, and better weapons systems, and then building and testing the prototypes. It was here, years ago, where Master Engineer Meksant had shown his best students the plans for the most ambitious project of all. In fact, he could still remember word for word the entire string of filthy invective that the old man had spouted when the project had been canceled in favor of something that the Emperor's witch had dreamed up. Offhandedly, he wondered whether or not old Meksant was still working here. He hoped so; the surly old wrench-juggler was of the sort that would go mad with boredom two days into retirement and rebuild the family vehicle into a death ray at the first opportunity.

He paused to rest for a little time in one of the staff breakrooms and was joined a few minutes later by a group of other techs and engineers, all of whom greeted him with politeness for his uniform and with a complete lack of recognition of him personally. He chatted with them companionably for a time over the ins and outs of insystem thrusters, and then tagged along with them when they went back on duty. This allowed him to progress another three levels closer to his goal without risking discovery. Past that point, however, he knew that he would have to be very careful.

Pausing at a handy terminal, he had a look at the security codes and found that these, at least, had been updated several times in the last month alone. Someone wasn't taking any chances, although whoever had written the updates had been perhaps a little lazy. Modhri knew that particular code language inside and out and was able to promote himself to the proper clearance levels without too much difficulty. Even so, he would have to take great care not to be seen by anyone in charge; this deep into the SpaceHab it was all brass country, where nobody below the rank of Commander or Master Engineer was allowed to wander around without express permission. In light of this, he deployed his secret weapon—a notescreen. Senior officers tended to ignore underlings with notescreens, assuming that they were running errands for their own superiors and had a perfect right to be there. Thin protection, perhaps, but perhaps it would be enough. Modhri passed through another checkpoint and continued onward.

 

“How much time will it set the project back by?” Sendak asked, glowering at the list of figures on the main screen.

The elderly machinist humphed, scratched irritably at the purplish-gray fur above one ear, and replied in a sharp voice that grated unpleasantly on Sendak's ears, “Four months at least, five or six, more likely, and I hope that Prorok pickles the idiot who fired on that ship. Anyone with any sense at all should know better than to fire on a Saranto cluster-ship so close to a habitation! Fool! A full third of the assembly docks completely destroyed and half of a very expensive warship as well, and another third of the docks damaged and irradiated beyond use! They're lucky that it wasn't any bigger than a private yacht, or the drive might have formed a singularity and pulled the entire station through a hole no larger than a hydrogen atom. If they can rebuild Atelka Shipyard, then they had better get on with it. There simply aren't any other manufactories that can handle that portion the Bagantush Project at the moment without considerable shuffling. Of those few in the area that can take on even the smallest part of that load, I would trust perhaps two of them to follow the blueprints properly. Your best course of action is to send every repair drone in the region over there, sir, and expedite shipments of materials.”

“The Emperor will not like hearing that,” Sendak rumbled ominously.

Master Engineer Meksant sniffed primly, unimpressed; he'd faced that particular threat for longer than this silly ass had been alive, and knew full well that he was worth more to the Emperor than any soldier boy on this level. “His Imperial Majesty doesn't have to like it. It is simple fact, which does not vanish into mist at even his whim. The Shipyard has been all but destroyed by itchy trigger-fingers and that disgustingly large antique robot. He can either bend his will to getting it rebuilt, even upgraded, as quickly as possible, or he can wait the four to six months that it's going to take to start building his new toy. He's ten thousand years old. He can wait. You can tell Prorok the same.”

Sendak gritted his teeth. There are few things that a bully hates more than a person who will not fear him, and being unable to punch that person is one of them. “And the other Shipyards?”

“All ready to go, as soon as they obtain the necessary shipments of materials, which your superiors, if they have any sense, will use a portion of to rebuild Atelka. _Yes,_ I know, it will set the Project back even further, but that cannot be helped.” Meksant vented an irritated _chuff._ “Unless you can persuade Haggar to find a way to extract the Imp of the Perverse from the universe at large and seal it into a bell jar for people to point and laugh at, this sort of thing will continue to happen. I cannot count how many times my projects have been delayed by events such as this, and some were even stranger. Get out of my lab, Sendak. I have better things to do than to try to pound sense into your head. Find someone else to loom over, you're good at that.”

Sendak did not dignify that with an answer. Instead, he turned and left, seething with suppressed fury and deeply desirous of something to hit until it fell apart. Zarkon had not been particularly pleased with him lately, and that was very dangerous; on top of that, Sendak wasn't particularly pleased with himself. For just a little time, he'd had not only the Lions but two of the Paladins and the Castle itself in his grasp, and he'd lost them along with a valued lieutenant and the use of his battle-arm. Worse, he'd lost them largely due to the efforts of the smallest of them, and that rankled more than he cared to admit. His memories of the time he'd spent in stasis were fuzzy at best, but he remembered being shouted at by the Champion, and of resisting that alien's demands as much as he could. Having the canopy cracked and subsequently being spaced had not been part of the plan.

Sendak was aware that he'd probably blown several years' worth of luck on being rescued, and more on obtaining one of Zarkon's very, very rare second chances. He had promised never to disappoint the Emperor again, and was determined to make good on it. If he could only finish his convalescence without dying of sheer frustration before his new ship was ready to go Lion-hunting.  _Just a few more days,_ he thought to himself,  _then I can go and seek my revenge._ Being the errand boy of the General Staff until then was really getting on his nerves.

The lesser ranks, at least, could see his irritation and got out of his way with commendable speed, leaving him a clear path to the lifts but with no one to yell at. He leveled an extra-vicious glare at a bony, middle-aged Senior Engineer who was ambling down the hall while studying a notescreen and barked,  _“Out_ of my way!” just to relieve his feelings.

The Engineer jumped in surprise and looked up sharply, nearly dropping his notescreen, the arching eyebrows quirking up in startled recognition. He ducked his head humbly, murmured, “Sorry, Sir, excuse me,” and slipped away down a side passage.

With a growl of satisfaction, Sendak continued on for a few steps until he realized that he knew that voice from somewhere. Deep and quiet, with the pure accent of Galran Prime crystallizing on every syllable. Where had he heard that voice? Come to think of it, the face was familiar as well, with that particular startled expression. He'd seen that man, heard his voice before, but never in the foreground. Where..?

Sendak paused, then headed back and peered down the side hall, but the Engineer had already gone.  _Galran Prime,_ he mused. He hadn't been on Galran Prime since he'd graduated from Academy. Why should it nag at him so much? Knowing full well that this puzzle would keep him up all night if he didn't sort it out now, he went to check the staff roster.

 

Modhri passed the last portal with a confidence that he did not wholly feel, but the squad of Sentries ignored him completely nonetheless. Knocking into Sendak had not helped his nerves at all, although the burly giant didn't seem to have recognized him. All the same, he took the precaution of locking the door behind him.

The High Security Databank was a massive black cube that squatted in the center of the room, patterned here and there with stripes of the ubiquitous pale-purple light, its four terminals standing empty at the moment. Just as well, really, he didn't feel quite up to having to knock someone out. He'd lost his stun pistol along with the rest of his kit when the  _Chimera's Clutch_ was destroyed, and hadn't been able to replace it. Still, he had no time to waste; he'd had it surprisingly easy thus far, but there was no reason to expect this state of affairs to continue.

A hand laid on the identipad on one terminal brought it alight easily enough, although his attempt to access the main data storage was met with a demand for a password. Modhri muttered a soft curse under his breath and tried the one that he'd seen Meksant use last time he'd been here.

_Denied,_ the machine told him scornfully, and Modhri knew full well that another failure would set off a thousand alarms. “Fine,” he muttered, pulling Lizenne's utility knife from his bag and flicking it to the forceblade setting. A bright little shard of light appeared at the end of the handle, and it pared the bolts off of the terminal's service panel without any trouble. He was no computer specialist, but he knew all about parts, and it took him only a little time to rig a bypass that got him into the data files. A very great many data files, and he stared in horrified fascination at what he saw there.

Modhri had gone into the Military to please his family more than he had done so for patriotism or any liking for violence. In truth, it had been the best education that his folks had been able to obtain for him. He was perfectly willing to allow other peoples the right to live out their own lives unmolested by Imperial aims, and indeed would have preferred that they did so. The Emperor did not share his views, however, and he now saw a little way into the mind and heart of the man who had ruled most of known space for ten thousand years. The Bagantush Destroyer was only the latest in a long, long list of things destined for the purpose of full-blown destruction, xenocide, and mass subjugation of every living thing in the universe, and spoke of an all-consuming lust for power that frightened Modhri right down to his bones. More frightening still was the fact that he had seen this murderous litany once before, in a dream where he was required to make a choice...

Modhri swallowed hard and got a grip on his fraying nerves. “No,” he whispered, a terrible anger rising in his heart, “no you don't. I will not allow this. You cannot have everything you want. No one can.”

Teeth bared in defiance, Modhri sent his fingers dancing over the terminal's controls. File after file of potential cosmic death vanished permanently into oblivion under his touch. Every plan that evaporated thus meant tens of billions of lives saved, and he saved the best for last. The Bagantush Destroyer gleamed on the screen alone now, and his hands hovered over the controls for one more “delete” command when something heavy impacted on the chamber door. Modhri winced at the sudden crash and knew that he had been discovered. There was no other way in or out of this room, and he was unarmed and in no shape to defend himself. He knew full well that he would be lucky if they just killed him. Still, he thought as another tremendous impact made the door's paneling bulge, there was one way that he might, just  _might_ come out of this alive. His Lady was very skilled, and she had powerful backup.

Modhri dropped to his knees and dug into his kit, bringing out the Altean communicator, the morph adapter, the data cable, and the booster cell, blessing his Lady and his friends for these gifts. Working faster than he ever had before, he rigged the parts together into a rough but usable data transfer device, and downloaded a copy of the Destroyer's plans onto the communicator. Behind him, the door began to crumple under the repeated blows.

“I am sorry, Allura,” he murmured over the noise, “but I made Lizenne a promise that I will not break.”

So saying, he sent the copy of the plans to the Castle in a message burst that nearly melted the cable's insulation; he knew that the enemy would be able to trace that call, and in fact was counting on it. The doors were hauled out of their frames with a shriek of tortured metal, and Modhri took the opportunity to erase the original copy of the plans. The man-sized cube behind the terminal was now as empty as a blown egg. He turned to see Sendak standing there, a crowd of soldiers and Sentries behind him.

“Modhri,” Sendak growled, electronic eye ablaze, “you are dead.”

“Yes,” Modhri replied mildly, his heart at peace. He had done everything that he possibly could have, and now could only trust to fate. “Considering how many people have died here already, you should expect a ghost or two. Your move, Sendak. Will you kill me a second time, or will you use me to force compliance out of Lizenne? You've done that before, as I recall.”

Sendak hissed in anger. “Lizenne? She's here?”

Modhri smiled. “No. She's with the Lions. The Paladins are a charming bunch, and she has a very great deal to teach them. How best to deal with large, ugly cyborgs, for one.”

Sendak roared in fury and charged.

 


	7. Four Flavors of Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. Third season is awesome in the old sense of the word and blows all of our theories for the show out of the water. Non-Spoiler synopsis: Klance fans have a ton of new material for their fangasms, their Slav is cooler than our Slav, and Oh My God, We're In Trouble Now.
> 
> We already have the vast majority of this fic written and drafted, and trying to make it fit the revelations of Season Three would involve rewriting over two thirds of it (something like a couple hundred pages; Spanch and I tend to write epics), and we had way too much fun with the story to drop it all. So that "Canon Divergence" tag is HUGELY in effect now.

Chapter 7: Four Flavors of Magic

 

Modhri was late. It had been several days since Lizenne had dropped him off at Keriopt II, and the only indication that he had achieved his goal had been the message burst that had nearly shorted out the Castle's receivers. After that had come only silence. None of them were sure of what to do about the enormous data file sitting in the Castle's memory banks right now; there was no possible way that they could make use of the dreadful weapon it might someday produce, nor did they particularly want to. Allura would have preferred to erase it herself, although Coran stopped her; perhaps one day it might come in handy. Everyone was worried about Modhri's disappearance, and stayed alert for any word from him at all.

Lizenne was fretting, pacing around the Castle and muttering anxiously under her breath, unable to focus on any given task and fidgeting constantly. She wasn't used to things not going her way, the others noticed, and she agreed.

“I'm older than I look,” she told them, “and I'm used to making my own luck. I don't like it when I have to leave things up to chance. Modhri's as clever and competent a fellow as one could hope for, but he's still fragile. I put an awful lot of effort into putting him back together, and I don't want anyone ruining all of my hard work!”

“And you love him,” Allura put in slyly.

“There's that, too,” Lizenne replied matter-of-factly. “I love him as dearly and deeply as any woman who ever loved a man. So help me, if they've hurt him...”

 

Two days later, they had their answer.

Pidge's voice came stridently over the Castle's PA system, startling everyone. “Everybody, come to the bridge right now! We've got company—it's Sendak.”

Eight separate swearwords were spat simultaneously by the others, but they came running. Pidge had been sitting at the comm and monitoring the controls while Coran took a nap nearby in a comfy chair. Of all of them, she was the most comfortable with Altean technology, but right now she looked like she wanted to throw something heavy at the screen. This was understandable. On one secondary screen, a Galran heavy cruiser hung silhouetted against the stars; on the main screen was a regrettably familiar face; Sendak was unattractive at the best of times, and the look of malicious pleasure on his face did not help at all.

Keith did not approve. “Oh, for Pete's sake, we thought you were dead! What do you want, you ugly freak?”

“ _Oh, this and that, and something that at least one of you might want, given your low tastes,”_ Sendak gloated. _“Greetings, Lizenne. Still picking up other people's trash?”_

The look she gave him should have baked his silhouette onto the far wall. “It depends on your definition of trash. Still shining the Emperor's boots every morning, Sendak? You've the tongue for it.”

Sendak's expression hardened and a muscle near his right eye twitched.  _“You always did have a way with words, even if your tastes in company leave much to be desired. Primitives and animals. Is that the best that you can do?”_

Soluk and Tilla had come into the room as well; Coran had been a little upset with having the dragons wandering more or less at will through the house, but it was impossible to stop the big beasts from going where they pleased. Both of them gave the Galra on the screen a critical look and hissed disapprovingly.

“High Society palls, considering what has been floating to the top of late,” Lizenne countered lightly. “Enough of this gloating, you self-inflicted cyborg. State your business or go polish your parts where we won't have to watch.”

Lance cast her an amused look. “I take it that you and him go way back?”

“Regrettably, yes.”

Sendak's evil smirk returned, and he beckoned with his artificial hand to someone off-screen. _“At least I do look after my parts. You, however, seem to have misplaced something.”_

A pair of soldiers dragged a ragged figure forward between them. He'd been badly beaten, bound, stripped of his engineer's uniform and clad in the black bodysuit and tattered dull-purple smock issued to slaves, but the face was familiar. Hunk groaned, “Oh, no. Modhri.”

“ _We found this filthy traitor meddling in the high-security data bank. Unfortunately, he managed to erase quite a lot of important data before we could stop him, including the plans for the Bagantush Destroyer. He neglected, however, to conceal the fact that he had sent a copy of those plans to you. If you value this wretch's life, you will return them. If you value your own, Paladins, you will send us that witch as well. She is a traitor to the Empire, and will answer to the Emperor alongside this fool here.”_

Lizenne was standing statue-still, staring with open hatred at Sendak, seemingly at a loss for what to do. He smirked at her, his electronic eye glowing. _“Come on, Lizenne, it might not be so bad. After all, young women are well-known for letting their fervor for study get the better of them. The Emperor might even let you live, although your pet has already been awarded to me. Perhaps I'll let you watch as he fights for his life in the arena. He's had some practice in that already, or so I've heard, and Haggar has some ideas that sound very interesting. It should be a fine show.”_

Lizenne's breath hissed in and out through her bared teeth in one long exhalation. She bowed her head for a moment and seemed to center herself. When she looked up again, her gaze was icy and her voice was calm. _“Kheshveg.”_

Sendak jerked back from the screen and his troops flinched, dropping Modhri to his knees on the floor; Sendak couldn't have been more surprised if she'd reached through the screen and slapped him. _“Wh-what did you say?”_

“You heard me,” Lizenne said in that same calm voice. “I have said it once; know that I will see you dead at my feet at the end of this. _Kheshveg,_ Sendak. I have said it twice. Take that word to my Godmother, if you think you can say it to her face and not have your heart torn out on the spot. _Kheshveg,_ Sendak. I have said it thrice, and you may take that word, if you dare, to your precious Emperor. Perhaps he will end you without too much pain, assuming that I don't get to you first.”

Sendak was staring at her in wide-eyed horror, and actually cringed when she swept her arms out to the sides and gave him a terrible smile. “And just so you know what you've turned against yourself and your superiors, pay attention; you might see it again one day.”

She made a sign in the air, closed her eyes, and began to chant softly in a voice that echoed oddly. _“Tahe moq, voranze kaeo seladth, dolace qo tu tahe moq...”_

The two dragons strode up to position themselves on either side of her and stood watchfully.

“ _...laneza baz, aud Tilla, aud Soluk, aud Modhri...”_

Golden lines twinkled in the air, forming a shimmering web around the witch and her dragons.

“ _...sovad tash, tahe moq, eheal tash, rhadi moq...”_

Golden lines began to form around the kneeling figure on the screen. One of the soldiers made a grab for Modhri's shoulder, but his hand blurred strangely and he screamed and fell away. The other one retreated without making any attempts at touching the prisoner. Modhri didn't move.

“ _...ta sotulon, ta evraila, tahe moq, AZAT!”_

Modhri vanished. Eight charged seconds later, he appeared at her feet, gasping and wild-eyed, but alive. Lizenne swayed and had to prop herself up on the chair that Coran had been resting in, but the smile she gave Sendak was triumphant. “The number of witches in the entire history of the Empire who could teleport someone other than themselves over that much distance without harming them, without the aid of Quintessence, I might add, is precisely six. Haggar is not among them.”

Sendak's voice shook when he spoke again, and his eyes were filled with hate. _“You will regret this, rogue witch. All the Empire's might will be arrayed against you!”_

Lizenne made a rude gesture at him. “And that makes me different from my companions how? Go away, Sendak, or I might decide to try my little trick on you next. This time you'll be out in orbit without a handy stasis pod.”

The screen went blank. With an effort, Lizenne turned the chair around and sagged down into it, and Shiro was already getting the cuffs off of Modhri's wrists. Modhri groaned and clutched at his left arm, but nodded his thanks to his fellow warrior. “My Lady,” he rasped wearily, “you are arrogant. You should not have showed your hand so early, or at all. You will not be able to travel freely in Empire space now, and getting information will be even more difficult.”

She snorted. “Yes, I am arrogant. I am relentlessly determined to have my way in all things, I love possessing knowledge that lesser mortals can only guess at, I see no problem with ridding the universe of people who severely annoy me, and I will insist on preserving the life of the one man who meets my ridiculously high standards. Are you complaining?”

He considered that for a moment. “No, not really. Haggar was delighted to have me back, if only for the interrogation. Sendak was an enthusiastic participant. Thank you, by the way. And you two, as well.”

Tilla chirped and Soluk lowered his massive head to sniff daintily at Modhri, and that worthy smiled to hear the usual sneeze-and-giggle.

Lizenne chuckled faintly. “Well, that worked.”

“Haggar wasn't happy about it.”

“ _Tajvek_ her, multiple times, and with a squootchlik.”

“That's disgusting.”

“So's she.”

Modhri vented a creaking laugh and rested his head against her thigh, sighing when she laid her hand on his shoulder. “No argument there. You still should not have done that.”

“I know. It was a risk, even with the dragons backing me up. I still don't care. I refuse to leave anything precious to me in the hands of the enemy, and damn the consequences. We have... at least... given them something to worry about.”

Lizenne heaved a deep breath and slumped in her chair, unconscious, and Modhri shuddered and clutched at his side. Shiro caught him before he collapsed, and he muttered a bleary, “I... I will not leave her.”

“That's okay, buddy,” Shiro said reassuringly, “because both of you belong in a hospital. Hunk, can you carry Lizenne?”

Hunk lifted her easily, but Modhri was a different story. He was badly injured and at the end of his strength; eventually, the two dragons carried him to the medical section, slung between them in a blanket gripped firmly in their jaws. With their help, the Paladins were able to ease him into one of the medical pods, and Coran ran scans as soon as the pod activated.

“He's a tough old fellow, I'll give him that,” Coran said, tapping a finger on the screen. “Three broken ribs, two more cracked, dislocated shoulder, broken wrist, wrenched knee, numerous contusions, a bruised organ or two, a mild concussion, and his blood chemistry looks like a Gantarash stew. All full of nasty surprises, if you take my meaning. Well, we'll soon have him patched up.”

“And Lizenne?” Hunk asked.

“Exhausted. All she needs is rest.” Coran squinted at the readout. “Maybe a week or so of rest, but that's all. Do you two need anything?”

This last had been directed at the dragons, who were watching the pods gravely. Tilla lowered her head and licked his face with a very large, very blue tongue, and then lay down on the floor. Her mate joined her a moment later with a tired grunt, and they were soon both asleep.

 

Many words had been used to describe Sendak, some of them even polite. “Bold”, certainly, and “ruthless” was a favorite, and “dedicated” was undeniable. Right now, however, even the most flattering descriptions would have to include “badly shaken”, or perhaps—in whispers only—“terrified”. He had not slept at all well during the three days it had taken to get back to the Center. He'd been summoned by the Emperor himself, and the boss was not pleased with him. His men shook their heads dolefully and muttered that this mistake might be his last. Or maybe not. Witches were tricky, and she'd declared... they didn't even want to whisper _that_ word, although the soldier who'd been foolish enough to touch the vanished traitor had plenty to say about it. He still hadn't regained full use of his hand, and it had an alarming habit of fading in and out at odd moments.

And so it was with his instincts screaming at him to run to the farthest reaches of the galaxy, to be anywhere other than here, Sendak approached the throne and bent the knee, awaiting his Emperor's judgment. And possibly Haggar's as well. She was beside Zarkon as always, her eyes glowing in the shadows of her hood. They observed him coldly for a long, uncomfortable moment, and then the Emperor's deep, dangerously mild voice slid through the air like a knife. “Sendak. It seems that you have difficulty in keeping your promises.”

Sendak didn't dare look up. He'd heard that tone of voice before, usually just before someone was dragged away by the Druids. “Forgive me, my Lord,” he choked.

Zarkon's pale eyes narrowed slightly. “That may not be possible. When your damaged body was pulled from space, from a cracked Altean stasis pod, no less, you swore that you would never disappoint me again. I cannot count how many other times I have seen that particular promise broken, Sendak. I expected better of you.”

“There were... unexpected circumstances, my Lord,” Sendak could not quite keep the quaver out of his voice. “The witch Lizenne--”

“You had a hostage that she values,” the Emperor stated immovably. “An advantage that has worked well for you in the past. Allied with the Paladins she might be, but they would not have chosen to defend her. They have no reason to trust our kind, after all. Not even those who have turned against the Empire. You should not have returned empty-handed. At the very least, you should have brought back that traitor. You will tell me what happened.”

Sendak shuddered, but obeyed. “I managed to locate the Castle of Lions in the Corvadi Sector, Quadrant Four, in the Torigan System. I judged it wise to keep a safe distance.”

“Why did you not engage?” Zarkon asked.

“My forces were not sufficient to engage Voltron in a pitched battle. That would have required a fleet.” Sendak pulled in a shaking breath. “The Paladins are soft-hearted. Weak. Using that traitor should have worked. I offered to trade him for the plans or the witch. They should have taken the bait.”

Zarkon straightened slightly in his chair. He had a tendency to slump, and almost never looked anyone directly in the eye these days. “I assume they did not.”

“They never had the chance, my Lord,” Sendak replied, his voice gone hoarse; what he said next had a definite chance of killing him. “Lizenne... the witch declared... _kheshveg.”_

Both Zarkon and Haggar looked up in surprise, startled into silence for a moment. Zarkon hissed like a steam engine. “That is a word that I have not heard in a very long time. I do not relish hearing it now. Who has she set herself against?”

“Me, my Lord, and Haggar, and... and you.” Sendak was trembling now, and couldn't stop himself from doing so. “I was going to kill the prisoner, but she acted first, and retrieved him.”

“How?” Haggar barked. “The Lions?”

“No!” Sendak yelped, “The Lions I might have dealt with, for the Paladins have a habit of rescuing people alive. Ideally, I could have evaded them and used the prisoner to lure them into a trap later. She used magic to take him right out of my ship!”

Haggar's eyes glowed like searchlights, and a crackle of dark energies sizzled around her hands. “That is not possible. Not at such distances. Describe what she did.”

Sendak sagged forward; fear had turned his bones to water, and he was forced to brace himself with his hands. “She spoke an incantation. Golden forces formed around her, and around the prisoner. Then he vanished, and a few seconds later he appeared at her feet, alive. One of my men was injured in the process.”

“ _Gold..._ ” Haggar hissed. “She was not using Quintessence?”

“She said not, Haggar.”

Haggar bared her teeth, the power crackling around her fingers swelling into a ball of livid light, and an echoing cloud of dire energy formed around Sendak. “The Paladins! Was she draining the Paladins, or those two Alteans? Speak, damn you!”

“No!” Sendak squeaked, “if anything, she ignored their presence! The only creatures near her were a pair of Zampedri prairie dragons. She threatened to do the same magic on me, and to leave me stranded halfway.”

She lashed a hand in his direction, and he cried out in agony as dark energy crackled through him, lifting him off of the floor entirely. “You will tell me what spell she used.”

“Haggar, I beg you, I have no knowledge of magic!” Sendak screamed; his nerves were suddenly on fire.

“Her words, Sendak!” Haggar snapped, clenching her fingers around a roiling ball of black and purple light. “Speak! I gave you those implants, and I can remove them. Speak, or I will split you at the seams.”

Sendak, feeling a trickle of something wet running from his artificial eye and smelling his own blood, desperately got a grip on his memory. “Sh... she said...  _t-tahe moq, voranze kaeo saledth...”_

Haggar gasped, and Zarkon glanced at her with concern.

“ _...dolace qo tu tahe moq...”_ Sendak gasped, _“...l-laneza baz...”_

“ _Silence!”_ Haggar snarled, dropping him with a crash. “How dare she. How _dare_ she! How did she find that spell?”

“Is this something I should know about?” Zarkon asked.

Haggar barely heard him, she was that angry.  _“No one_ has invoked  _Tahe Moq_ since the Sisterhood War. I know this, for I eradicated that practice myself! She cannot have studied it, it no longer exists!”

“You know it.” Zarkon observed.

Haggar made an inarticulate sound of fury. Sendak, lying in a heap on the floor, stayed very still. “Not much of it. Enough to have discovered the secrets of Quintessence. Enough to have the sense to wipe out its practitioners before they could become a threat.”

“Lizenne has considerable power,” Zarkon murmured, “perhaps she has discovered other secrets of the dim past.”

“No. I knew her mother. I saw her born. I keep all other witches of any talent in the Empire under my eye, and take the best to become my Druids. Neither Lizenne or any of her sisters had that sort of strength, and Lizenne lacked even sufficient focus, always haring off to odd corners of the Empire and making pets of her test subjects. Bah!”

“The dragons, then?” Zarkon asked.

“Impossible. I remember studying them.” Haggar slashed a hand through the air. “Useless. Nothing but animals, and completely incompatible with our sciences. They're not even good for entertaining the rabble in the arena. I can't even remember where the Zampedri system is.”

“Is she a threat, do you think? She has thrown her lot in with the Paladins.”

“She might seek to use them. I will have to retire to the scrying chamber.” Haggar hissed angrily. “She has declared  _ kheshveg  _ thrice, and that is no small thing in and of itself. If nothing else, she is alone.  _ Tahe Moq  _ was practiced in groups, and those Earthlings have no talent for magic. The Empire is legion, and we possess Quintessence in great amounts.”

“I will wait and see, then.” The Emperor sighed and settled deeper into his throne. “Sendak, get out of my sight. Go, and do not come back until you have the Lions or the corpse of that rogue witch. Preferably both.”

Sendak heaved himself to his knees and bowed his head, grateful to be allowed to escape alive. “Yes, Emperor Zarkon.”

 

Despite the extent of his injuries, Modhri emerged from his pod before Lizenne did. Only about fifteen minutes or so, but he teased her gently about oversleeping nonetheless. She responded by saying that she had, by damn, _earned_ her right to a late morning, and so had he. Their housemates found them a little while later in one of the Castle's lounges, giving the dragons a thorough polish with stiff bristle brushes while Lizenne praised them extravagantly for their help. The dragons, sprawled untidily on the floor and humming with pleasure, were taking it as their due. Soluk chirped a greeting as the Paladins and the two Alteans entered. “Good day,” Modhri echoed.

“You look better,” Hunk said, squatting down to rub Tilla's nose. “They gave you a real going-over.”

Modhri nodded, straightening up and stretching the kinks out of his shoulders. “The Emperor doesn't like traitors, never mind that he betrayed me first. Fortunately, I was slightly more valuable alive than dead. He may be regretting that now.”

“Yeah, that was quite a show you put on,” Lance said, “I thought Sendak would wet himself.”

Pidge eyed the dragons quizzically. “How did you do that, anyway, and what did the dragons do? They were helping, that's for sure.”

Lizenne shook her head. “Teleportation is a fairly common talent among witches, although most of us can't move anything other than ourselves, or much further than a few meters in any direction. For many, it's strictly line-of-sight. As for _how_ we do it... well, I'll be able to tell you that when you can explain to me exactly why you have such a knack with alien technology. It's much the same thing. As for the dragons...”

Soluk stretched, his spines rattling, and winked at her.

“The Dragons aren't animals,” Lizenne said, rubbing him under the chin. “Not any more than you or I am. It's wonderful camoflage, isn't it? Simply by looking like big spiky reptiloids and being physically unable to speak a translatable language, they've managed to avoid the notice of just about everybody. They have sciences and disciplines that are totally unrelated to ours, and a civilization that simply doesn't need big cities, industries, and politics like ours do. Their grasp of the aetheric sciences is well above and beyond my own, and were able to lend me strength so that I could rescue their friend. I knew how to move Modhri from where Sendak had him, but the effort of moving him would probably have killed me. Probably both of us, if I'd failed to complete the transition. With the pair of them backing me up, my own powers are increased enormously. And I'm always careful to pay you two back aren't I?” She crooned at the two dragons, who hummed agreeably. “I baby you ridiculously, so I do, and never once take your help for granted. I've also been very careful never to let the Empire learn what they really are.”

Keith knelt down next to Soluk and rubbed a hand over the big scaly forearm. “Zarkon would drain them dry of Quintessence in a snap if he knew. That's not gonna happen.”

“I won't tell him if you won't.” Modhri said.

Allura pulled up a chair and sat down next to them. “All banter aside, what you did was precipitous. What is 'kheshveg'?”

“Yeah,” Pidge said, “Sendak looked like you'd given him a wedgie when you said that.”

Lizenne smirked and gave Tilla another good scrub with the brush. “Pride,” she told them candidly. “We Galra have always been prideful, right from the beginning, and it's led us into some bad habits. To answer your question, Allura, _kheshveg—_ in its earliest and simplest sense—means 'disagreement'. It's gained a few extra meanings over time.”

“It sounded more like a death threat,” Shiro opined.

“It is.” Lizenne stared into the middle distance for a long moment, as if gathering up scattered thoughts. “Before my people achieved spaceflight, we were actually a matriarchal society. No kings or emperors, just queens and empresses. Most of the time they got along fairly well, but there were some rather spectacular wars. When the stardrive was discovered, dozens of lesser royals fled out into space, colonizing every planet that could support our kind of life, and a few that couldn't. For centuries, the homeworld was content to leave these young upstarts alone. That ended when the Imperial Sisters took the Banabuk Throne—the head of the most powerful nation. They were twins—two girls in a single brood is extremely rare, and their powers amplified each other's. They soon decided that they should have rulership over all Galra, not just their own nation.”

“I think I can see where this is going,” Hunk grumbled. “War?”

“My goodness, yes. Quite a large one.” Lizenne shook her head. “The biggest in our history. The Sisterhood War changed our society entirely. The Twins managed to subjugate every noble house on the planet, but they ran into stiffer resistance when they turned their gazes to the colonies. It was Queen Zaianne of Namtura who redefined _kheshveg_ for us, when she told the Twins to take their demands and shove them up the orifice of their choice. That word now means a disagreement so complete and all-encompassing that the speaker cannot believe that the person he or she is disagreeing with is even a sapient life form. She who declares _kheshveg_ sets herself against everything that the other does, says, is, and believes, and will seek to destroy them and all of their works in order to cleanse their perversions from the universe. Even today, it's not a word that is used often or lightly.”

“Wow,” Keith said, “you've just declared war on a big chunk of the Universe.”

“Indeed. And you've gained a witch, if you wish to keep me on.” Lizenne snorted in amusement. “I can't make promises for Modhri and the dragons, but I'm pretty sure that they'll hang around, if only to watch the fireworks.”

Coran gave her a hard look. “I couldn't help but notice that you called Haggar your godmother. A bit of family rivalry there?”

“Not really. The relationship's rather more distant than that.” Lizenne rubbed wearily at her eyes. “Haggar's ancient, and always on the lookout for more witches powerful enough to join her Druids, and since talent often runs in families, there are several lineages that she keeps her beady little eyes on. Mine's one of them, and she's been a sort of unofficial Matriarch for us since time immemorial. Sendak's family, too. We're some sort of cousins, I think, many times removed.”

“Once by car thieves and twice by garbagemen, but nowhere near far enough away.” Pidge smiled grimly. “You two don't get along.”

“We've hated each other spectacularly from the moment we first met, back when we both were half-grown cubs. Sendak loves power. I had powers that he didn't, even at that young age. He once attempted to force me to give my power over to him by capturing Modhri and threatening to hurt him, so that he could use those stolen strengths to bully his own brothers. I made all of his hair fall out.” Lizenne smirked at their laughter. “As you can see, it never fully grew in again. He's got a big bald patch right over his rump, too. It's a small thing to base a relationship on, but we've maintained a healthy loathing for each other ever since.”

“I've had a few run-ins with him as well,” Modhri added, “not many, or I wouldn't be sitting here. He's a skilled commander and a fine tactician, but he smells of evil. I took care not to get too close, since his henchmen have a worrying habit of dying unexpectedly. Very much the Emperor's man, him.”

“Evil has a smell?” Allura asked.

Shiro's mind flickered with shadows and sensations; not badly, but odor was a major trigger for human memory, and he remembered the reek of the arena and of Haggar's lab very well, even if images escaped him. “Yes. I can't describe it. You either know it or you don't, but it definitely has one.”

Soluk huffed and rattled out a long series of chirps, razzes, hisses, and clicks that sounded quite authoritative. Lizenne nodded. “Yes, that's exactly it. Unfortunately, I can't translate that.”

“You can understand what he's saying?” Coran asked.

Lizenne shrugged and brushed a bit of dust from Soluk's tail. “They have their own ways of making themselves understood. I've been bonded to these two for seven years now, so I'm fairly good at listening to them. They can understand everything we say, however, and their hearing is excellent. If you have any pithy comments to make about their habits, keep them to yourself. They aren't vindictive or too easily insulted, but they will tease, and they will occasionally play pranks. Don't be too surprised if they start trying to play with you, particularly during combat practice.”

Tilla grinned, showing fearsome teeth. Hunk leaned away from those. “Right. What are we supposed to do then?”

“Play with them,” Modhri replied simply, rolling his shoulder. “I regained a fair amount of my strength and balance by engaging in shoving matches with Tilla. You can't hurt them and they won't hurt you, so don't be afraid to amuse them. It'll be good practice in dealing with things that are larger and stronger than you are.”

Tilla chirped eagerly and flowed to her feet, nudging at Hunk until he stood up. “Hey, now,” he said, trying to push her nose away, “I don't want to start anything in—hey!”

Tilla had taken a step forward, and Hunk's bootsoles squeaked on the floor as he slid backwards. Automatically, he braced his feet and got a better grip on her blunt muzzle, shoving back as hard as he could. Modhri smiled, watching them grunt and heave at each other. “Yes, exactly like that. Count your blessings, man. At least your bones are whole, and are original equipment. Mine were still knitting when she started pushing me around.”

“My turn next,” Keith said, grinning as Tilla shoved Hunk very firmly into a nearby couch. “In the training area, though. Let's not mess up the furniture.”

 

Lance hit the floor flat on his back, bringing up his armor's force-shield just in time to keep the huge fanged jaws from closing on his helmet. They gripped the shield instead with monstrous force; the fearsome beast swung its head from side to side, growling like a thunderstorm before sending him skidding helplessly away across the decking to smack into the wall on the far side of the room. It would have bounded after him, but a voice forestalled that. “All right, he's had enough, Soluk. You've gotten your point across.”

Soluk shifted restlessly from foot to foot and uttered a loud, unimpressed bark that echoed off of the walls of the training room. Lance had a bad habit of bragging about his own prowess that the dragons didn't like much. Lance heaved himself up with a groan and glared at the green Paladin. “Oh, and I suppose that you can do better?”

Pidge waved a hand at him. “Get off the floor and we'll find out.”

Lance was all too happy to leave the floor to his teammate, and stepped aside all the quicker when Soluk snorted at him. Pidge stepped up with a calculating expression that did not flinch when Soluk shook his horned head and roared at her. Soluk snorted and charged, fanged maw wide open; Pidge charged as well, diving and rolling under his snapping jaws to come up beneath him, jabbing her bayard at his knee. It connected with a crackle, startling a _yurk!_ out of the big reptiloid, and he tried to whirl on her. Pidge was ready for that and had already rolled to her feet, staying under him as he danced in agitated circles around the floor and poking him in the elbows and knees whenever his head or tail got too close to her. Eventually, he gave a screech of exasperation and leaped aside; Pidge followed him relentlessly until she had backed him into a corner and laid her hands on his nose, signaling that she'd won. Soluk grunted approvingly and licked her sweating face. She turned to grin at Lance, who was gaping at her in astonishment. “Short people for the win!” she laughed.

Lance groaned. “Right, right. I'm gonna go see how the others are doing.”

Not much better, apparently. In the next room, they found Keith flat on the floor with Tilla's clawed paw holding him down, his helmet lying on the other side of the room. He was laughing helplessly as she licked his hair into spikes. Hunk had already received the same treatment and was sitting down and checking his own bruises. “Hi,” he said, trying to smooth down hair that had been licked into a cockscomb, “having fun?”

“Her more than me,” Lance said, indicating a smug-looking Pidge. “Where's Shiro?”

Keith pushed Tilla's head aside and pointed at the door into the next room. “He's taking the advanced course. To tell you the truth, I'm not looking forward to that. At least I can see these big guys.”

Lance and Pidge shared a puzzled look and headed over to peer through the door, the other two and the dragons close behind them. In the cavernous room beyond, they saw their team leader standing in a fighting crouch, seemingly alone. Something purple flickered to his right and he spun, raising his arm to block a blow from a quarterstaff. Lizenne, they realized, grinning like a shark before flicking out of sight again. She reappeared several yards to the left, swung the staff at his head, flicked out again before it could connect, and popped back in again right behind him. Shiro dropped, spun his leg around in a fast sweep; Lizenne sprang aside, but wasn't quite quick enough to dodge the following blow that took the staff out of her hands.

“Good!” she said, “Very good. Remember, teleportation is line-of-sight, and that includes peripheral vision. Yours is actually better than mine, so keep that in mind. Also, if you're able, try to develop that proximity-sense of yours a little more. Teleportation stirs up aetheric waves, which will tell you exactly where I'm going to come out, if you can learn how to feel them. Just pay attention to what your skin is telling you, since your blood will pick up the vibrations faster than your conscious mind will. Once you've gotten the hang of that, I'll try messing with your basic perceptions. Hey, kids, want a turn?”

“No, thanks,” they chorused, making her laugh.

Shiro panted a laugh as well, turning to face them. “You should, you know. Or the dragons. Do you try your tricks with them?”

Lizenne retrieved her quarterstaff and shook her head. “Almost never. They know where I'm going to be before I get there. I gave up trying to surprise them years ago. I'll only teleport around them if I'm in a hurry.”

Soluk chirruped a suggestion.

“Ah. Soluk says to try you all out on something similar to what Shiro and I were doing. It's something that he and Tilla taught me, and it's been a great help. Don't worry, it won't hurt.” Lizenne smiled nostalgically. “Not unless you overreact the first time like I did, and fall flat on your face in a stinkweed patch. It's a mental exercise more than anything else.”

They looked at each other and shrugged. “Okay,” Keith said.

“Good. Helmets on, Paladins, and come on in. Tilla, Soluk, not you. Not yet. You're a bit big for this, and Human instincts work a little differently from mine.”

“Do they?” Lance asked.

“Yes. Galra are less likely to run away from threats, and we take care to assess them accurately. Humans are prone to unpredictable behavior, and can react explosively to threats that don't exist. I picked up a fair amount of information while I was delivering your mail, and watching you has been an education.” Lizenne's sharp teeth flashed in a smile, and she led them into the center of the room. “Now, stand here. Just stand, and listen. Lights off.”

Instantly, the room was plunged into absolute blackness, causing some of them to yelp and protest.

“Quiet!” Lizenne's voice snapped out of the dark, “Calm down. There's nothing that can hurt you here, save your own silliness. It's only an absence of light, it happens every evening. Easy, now. Calm your heartbeats and clear your minds. One of the primary curses of sentience is that our own thoughts constantly get in the way of what the world is trying to tell us. Just stand quiet, and listen.”

Lance fidgeted and Pidge stared around warily at the empty darkness, but they soon calmed as well. Eventually, Lizenne's voice drifted to their ears again, softly, as though it were coming from far away. “That's good. Listen to the silence. Hear your own breathing, your heartbeat, listen to the blood in your veins. You pulse with life. Feel it. It is like the wind, like the ocean, like the earth. Strong. Breathe it in. There is no effort involved at all.”

Lizenne's voice was soothing, hypnotic, and the Paladins stood like statues, listening to their own bodies. How long they stood there, silent and still, would surprise them later.

“Good. Your packmates stand around you. You trust them, they are your siblings. You do not see them, but you know that they are there. Hear their breathing. Feel the heat of their bodies. Smell their scents. Sense their closeness. Together, you are as one.”

Keith looked up; his eyes saw nothing but blackness, but he could feel Shiro standing behind him, and smell Pidge's shampoo off to his right. Hunk was a pillar of sun-warmed stone a little ahead of him, and the twitchy sensation to the left could only be Lance. He could not sense Lizenne at all. He felt comfortable, at ease in their company as he had never had with anyone before.

“Good. You are a strong pack. There is nothing in this darkness that is greater than you are,” Lizenne whispered from the shadows. “But... ah. There is a hunter here.”

The pack tensed, ever so slightly.

“He is a powerful hunter. To face him alone is to be devoured. Feel him, watching in the darkness. Hear his heartbeat, his breathing. Feel his heat. Catch his scent. He is mighty.”

There was something in the darkness. There was a faint, acrid whiff of something on the still air, like an old fur coat. Something large moved, and the feeling of being _watched_ permeated the air. The Paladins turned as one to face it, straining their ears for the sound of soft footsteps.

“He is wise in the ways of the hunt,” Lizenne's voice whispered, “he has hunted many before you, and he lives to hunt still. To face him alone is death. You are not alone. None of you are ever alone, for you are the pack, and the pack is as one.”

The hunter in the darkness was circling them now, each long, slow stride striking their nerves like drops of water hitting a still pool.

“The hunter seeks weaknesses and strengths. You have weaknesses and strengths. The strengths of each packmate meet the weaknesses of each packmate and bring them into balance. You are finely balanced within yourselves, for you are the pack, and the pack is as one.”

There was a sound as of claws on metal, somewhere in the distance. The Paladins spread out instinctively, feeling each other's position without seeing it.

“The hunter readies his weapons. He thinks he sees an opening. He does not think of taking the whole pack, but rather the weakest one. The pack does not waste time worrying about who is the weakest, for there is no weakest; you are the pack, and the pack is as one.”

The hunter in the dark was moving again, trying to flank them. Hunk and Shiro moved to guard Pidge and Lance while Keith held the center.

“The pack is strong. The hunter is worried. He cannot take the whole pack. He will have no prey from the pack if he faces them openly. The hunter resorts to guile.”

Fast, light footsteps darted behind them, while claws scratched at three other points in the room. The Paladins formed a ring, shoulder to shoulder, at the ready.

“The hunter is angry. The pack is too strong, but his pride is as strong; he has rarely failed in a hunt. He reveals himself.”

A pair of faint ruby lights gleamed in the darkness, small, as if from a great distance. Even so far away, the lights showed themselves as belonging to something _big._ The Paladins reacted instantly, arraying themselves against those two points of balefire.

“The hunter retreats. He will have no prey today. The pack is too strong. He is old, and he has become old by choosing his fights. He is vanquished, and he will remember this. He will remember all of you, but remember! You are of the pack, and the pack is as one. So long as you are as one, the hunter will never prevail.”

The lights vanished. The Paladins relaxed but remained watchful. The pack did not trust the hunter in the darkness not to take a cheap shot. There was only darkness and silence... and the scrape of claws on metal, close, too close, and a spark of red--

Keith let out a howl of sheer feral rage and charged, the others right behind him. The lights snapped on, the sudden brilliance startling them into a scrambling, skidding halt. Leaning against the wall before them was Lizenne, one hand outstretched. In that hand sat one of Allura's mice, the little red-eyed blue one with the surly expression. It stood up on her palm, waved tiny fists aggressively at them, and said _“Eeek!”_ as fiercely as a small rodent could.

Lance snorted, and then Pidge giggled nervously. Before long, all five of them had collapsed on the floor, hooting with laughter. “Very good,” Lizenne said over their gasps for air. “Keith, you've got good reflexes, but you mustn't ever rush blindly into a fight like that. It's bad for you. Who wants lunch?”

 

Lunch, as always, was a compromise. There were bowls of the squidgy substances that made up the standard Altean diet, items resembling Terran foods that the Castle's kitchen had been bullied into producing, and the protein-heavy things that suited Galran digestive systems. There were even large chunks of dense protein and bone-equivalent for the two dragons, who munched happily at the far end of the room.

“So, the dragons taught you that?” Shiro asked, waving a fork in the reptiloids' direction and quirking his eyebrows at Lizenne. “It's sophisticated stuff. I don't think that I've felt anything quite like it.”

“Yeah,” Hunk said, spooning some of everything onto his plate. “I could actually feel everyone around me, and everyone felt different! Shiro, you're made out of steel, and Keith's like fire, and Pidge sort of sparkles, and Lance--”

“Is generally awesome?” Lance finished for him.

“No, you're sort of all over the place at once,” Pidge said, “like throwing a bucket of water, or the stream from a snowblower. You're more like a stone pedestal, Hunk.”

“A handsome plinth,” Modhri murmured with a smile, and the others laughed and groaned.

Allura giggled. “Still, it seemed to work. Coran and I were watching from the observation deck, and you were moving with perfect coordination. Quite the best I've seen in some time.”

“Like the kimblebaks, which have one mind but up to twelve bodies,” Coran declared, “lovely animals, but it does get a bit crowded during feeding time, and you're never quite sure which end of the beast you're talking to.”

Lizenne nibbled thoughtfully at a baked root. “The dragons are pack hunters, but not apex predators. Believe it or not, there are things on the prairies that can break them down for stew meat very quickly, if they're caught out alone. Acting on a united front is the first lesson their hatchlings learn when they're old enough to leave the nest. I had a bad experience with one of those things when I first visited their world, which is how I met Soluk and Tilla. We drove it off together, and the dragons stayed with me out of curiosity. I had talents that they were unfamiliar with, and I was astonished by their strength. I'm of their pack now, and Modhri's becoming so. Look out, you're probably next.”

Shiro smiled fondly at the dragons, who winked at him. “I don't think that we'll mind. I sure like the idea of them backing me up. I couldn't sense you, though, during that exercise.”

Keith leaned forward. “Me either. It was like you were in another world or something.”

“I'm not a Paladin,” Lizenne said. “I've also learned how to conceal my aura. As the chosen of the Lions, getting you to act as a cohesive whole is far more important than anything else right now. I'd like to do that exercise again a few times before ramping it up a bit. You'll need to practice in darkness before you'll be able to do it in the light. Turning the lights out reduces distractions, you see. All the same, you did very well. And you as well, small fierce creature.”

This last was directed at the mouse who was trying to filch a large berry out of the common platter. _“Eeek,”_ it replied, with what might have been a salute.

“We've had some practice,” Keith said with a faintly dirty look at the two Alteans. “Training was kind of rushed, though. Are we going to have to do that thing you were doing with Shiro, with you popping in and out all over the place?”

Modhri sighed. “You are if you want to survive another encounter with Haggar or her Druids. Do you think that you'll be able to teach them to see through illusions, Lizenne?”

Lizenne gave them a considering look. “Probably, especially if they take those monsters on as a group. Some of them will be more sensitive than others, and Shiro tends to panic when he smells that sort of aetheric disruption. He has good reason to, given his recent past.”

“So do I,” Modhri said with a sympathetic glance in Shiro's direction. “If you have to, you could plant a ward in his mind, as you did with me.”

“A ward?” Allura asked, “What's that?”

“An aetheric lock. A major part of Galran witchery involves influencing the minds of others. Wards are for blocking that sort of thing.” Lizenne waved a cautionary finger at them. “There are serious downsides to that, however. First, the subject must be willing; trying to force a ward into someone can kill them or drive them insane. Secondly, the witch must be familiar with the subject. You're an alien, Shiro. I have very little experience with the ins and outs of a Human mind. Thirdly, setting in a ward will block all aetheric communication, including the link to your Lion, and you can't afford that if you wish to continue as a Paladin. I had to put a ward in Modhri because Haggar and her Druids had set controls in him that had turned him into their puppet. I removed those, but he remained vulnerable to their influence; those scars he bears are more than skin deep, believe me. He had to have some protection if she ever got her greasy claws on him again, or she would have shattered him irrevocably. You're rather more resilient, Shiro. It will be better, if not easier, to work through your fear on your own.”

“Not alone,” Hunk said, laying a big hand on Shiro's shoulder. “That's what this is all about, right? We're in this together until the end.”

Shiro smiled and patted his friend's hand. “Thanks, Hunk.”

 

Pidge had other things on her mind, and one of them was nagging at her as she helped Coran and Modhri run maintenance checks on the Castle's inner mechanisms, which had taken a considerable beating over the last year. They were still finding bits and pieces of Galra Sentries from that first, disastrous invasion during that party with the Arusians, and finding and removing the crushed and decomposing corpse of Sendak's henchman had been awful. Pidge had felt more than a little guilty about that, although she'd also found Rover, her pet drone. Several important things had broken inside of it, but she was working on that in her spare time. Modhri was currently lying on the floor with his arms up to his elbows in one of the control stations, trying to reach a component that had come loose and muttering Galran curses in a low undertone. Eventually, he pulled his arms out and sat up, stretching his shoulders out with a pained grunt and a crackle of joints. He'd managed to prod the household tailoring device into making him some spare clothing in the same style that Lizenne preferred: loose, comfortable trousers in some sort of fine fabric and a sleeveless, square-necked tunic with a simple geometric design around the hems. It looked good on him, but it also made his scars very visible. He was still thin, too, despite the good care he'd received. Not thin enough for this work, though.

“Coran, either you'll have to do this or call in the mice. I just can't reach that coupler, and Pidge's arms are too short.” Modhri glared at the tiny access. “Honestly, are all Altean machines specifically built to drive the repairmen crazy?”

“Most of them,” Coran knelt down and peered through the hatch. “It's part of the training. Can't make it too easy on the engineering corps or they'll get sloppy. Also helps to weed out the cadets whose hearts aren't in it. I admit that it makes things difficult for the rest of us when there's nobody else to drop this duty on. It'd be a lot worse if we didn't have the mice. Good mice, those mice.”

Coran shoved his arm in and fished around inside. There was a faint click from within and the terminal came online with a rising hum and a flicker of lights. “There,” Coran said in satisfaction. “Pidge, does the terminal test clean?”

Pidge was already running diagnostic checks and after a moment was pleased to report that nothing was wrong. “It's good, Coran.”

“Good,” Coran said, picking up his tools, “let's just get the panel reattached, and then it's on to the next one.”

Modhri sighed and snapped the panel back into place. “And the next, and the next, and the next. We would never have put up with this back at the Academy.”

Coran sniffed. “Coddle the cadets, do they?”

“Not in the slightest. Its the fur, you see,” Modhri extended an arm, running his fingers over the fine purple velvet between the scars. “If there's an electrical discharge in the wrong spot, the whole room stinks of scorched hair for days, and it takes forever to grow back. I used to be a starship engineer before I got promoted, and I made sure that I had easy access to everything.”

“How'd you get from engineer to warship commander?” Pidge asked.

“Battlefield promotion.” Modhri heaved himself to his feet and rubbed at a sore shoulder. “My ship's captain was very into that whole 'victory or death' philosophy. He found both while we were quelling an uprising out by Shandar. The whole bridge had been blown out and every last officer we had had gone with it. I managed to hotwire the command systems from the engine deck and kept us going that way. After that, the ship was rebuilt and given to me. A dubious gift, that. I never really was able to internalize the officer's training I received. Engineers are charged with keeping the crew alive. Captains are charged with getting everybody dead as gloriously as possible. It's not an easy switch to have to make.”

Coran eyed his scars. “No, it wouldn't be, would it? Got you into a spot of trouble, I'd think.”

Modhri bared sharp teeth in a grimace. “That's putting it mildly. I did well enough for a while by obeying orders and being cautious. Caution does you no good if you've run into a fleet of Gantarash Cannibals. They love Galra, preferably roasted whole with torguacs and sainip sauce. I had no intention of winding up as the main dish at a victory banquet. Yes, there was a chance that we could have beaten them. It just wasn't a very good chance.”

“And so you got busted,” Pidge grumbled as Modhri moved off to the next station. “Zarkon didn't strike me as being the understanding type.”

“He's forgotten how to fear,” Modhri said simply. “He's been too powerful for too long to fear anything. He likes it when others fear him, and Haggar of course, but he doesn't think that his people should fear anything else. He forgets that we just don't have his advantages.”

“He cheats.” Coran snapped. “Quintessence is the very life-essence of living worlds, not a performance-enhancing drug, but will he listen? The supply of live planets isn't infinite, you know.”

“I know.” Modhri said grimly. “I watched several die. It's not something I'd personally recommend for an evening's entertainment. If he isn't stopped, he'll run out of alien worlds to drain, leaving only Galra worlds. He'll take those, too, I expect. He'll take everything, if he's allowed, every last living planet in the universe. Voltron, powered with Quintessence, piloted by his hand-picked henchmen, and captained by himself, might just be able to take them on. Trillions will die in the attempt. Trillions already have. Perhaps he seeks to drain the very stars, too.”

“We have to stop him,” Pidge said, chilled to the core. “I don't know how, but we have to, and that means taking down Haggar. Is Lizenne up to that?”

Modhri sighed. “I have no idea. She's strong and the dragons will support her, but Haggar hasn't lived all this time by being careless. All I can do is trust in my Lady.”

“Maybe if we had more than one witch,” Pidge said, “she's teaching us some neat tricks already. She said that one time—right after she rescued you—that my talent for alien tech was like her talent for teleporting. Do you think she can teach me how to do that?”

Modhri paused, and looked uncertainly at her. “I don't know. You're probably better off learning such things from Allura, who's been hooked into the Castle itself. I'm certainly not the one to ask.” He gave her a sudden smile. “Although there is one small magic trick that I can teach you, if you're brave enough to use it, and can bear the consequences.”

“Oh?” Pidge asked.

“Yes.” Modhri's smile turned ever so slightly wicked. “Should you happen to take a Galra man prisoner and need to get information out of him without fancy machines or torture, you must lay him flat on the floor on his belly and hold him down, preferably blindfolding him as well. You must take off your gauntlets and rub him behind the ears. Only you can do this.”

Pidge and Coran stared at him as if he'd grown another head.

“Why's that?” Coran asked.

“Because she's a girl.” Modhri tugged on one one large ear. “It doesn't work if a man tries it, possibly due to body chemistry or something. I don't know how well it'll work since you're not of our people, but it's worth a try. Male Galra have large nerve knots at the base of our ears, and when a female stimulates those, he cannot help but love her. He will tell her anything, absolutely anything, to get her to continue. A Galra woman will only do that if she's decided to take him for her own, and given how rare the ladies are, the instinctual triggers are extremely powerful. That's why the blindfold is necessary. If he sees your face, he'll imprint on you, and follow you around like a puppy for the rest of his life. For all I know, that's how Haggar snared Zarkon.”

“But last night I saw you two in the lounge...” Pidge said, trailing off in embarrassment; Modhri had been sitting on the floor at Lizenne's feet while she'd been studying a data file, his head resting against her leg, yellow eyes unfocused and sleepy while her hand caressed his ear. Pidge's face went very red, and so did Coran's.

“Yes. She is my Lady.” Modhri smiled happily. “And if we survive all of this running around and screaming, I will be a father.”

 


	8. Looking Inward

Chapter 8: Looking Inward

 

Understandably, it was several days before Pidge felt comfortable enough to approach Lizenne. She was sitting alone in the lounge again, working on a project that involved some very peculiar diagrams, and didn't seem sorry to be interrupted. “Good day, Pidge,” the Galra woman said mildly, drawing an odd vector in one diagram with a fingernail and then frowning at it as though it had offended her. “Come distract me from this. I'm trying to find a way to disrupt a Robeast's inner workings, and it's fighting me. Modhri tells me that you've an important question to ask, but he wouldn't tell me what it was.”

Pidge walked over and peered curiously at the work on the screen. Some of it she recognized as machine schematics and circuit diagrams, but the rest was an incomprehensible hash of weird symbols. “Um,” she said uncertainly, “you said a while ago that my gift for understanding alien technology was like your magic. Can you teach me enough to put a dent in the enemy?”

Lizenne gave her a very surprised look. She turned in her seat to look Pidge directly in the eyes and just stared, motionless and silent, for nearly a minute. Finally, she blinked and shook her head. “I don't know.”

“But--!” Pidge protested, but Lizenne raised a hand.

“One,” Lizenne said, lifting a purple finger, “you are Human, not Galra. From what I was able to learn, your people study the physical sciences almost exclusively; aetherics are either ridiculed or ignored by the scientific community. They're the province of fiction and fantasy on your world. This tells me that the talent for them in your people is either weak or vanishingly rare. We've been breeding to enhance those traits in ourselves for tens of thousands of years. Two: you've come to this very late. You've got the potential, I've seen enough to know that, but we start learning those lessons from very early on in our childhood. Three: your talents are at their strongest exactly where mine fail. My mother encouraged me to take up cybernetics as my main course of study—she idolized Haggar—but I was able to learn only enough to reverse the process. Machines are dead things of ceramic and metal. I have always resonated with living things far more effectively than machines. I can get an AI to listen to me, but that's about it. Those are almost alive.”

Pidge sagged in disappointment. So, you can't help, then.”

“I can't teach you to move yourself through the aether, no.” Lizenne tapped a thumbnail against one tooth thoughtfully. “But I can give you some basic exercises that might—just _might—_ allow you to build something that will. I've been told that you had one of those little drones, right? You gave it a name.”

“Rover. It saved me from Sendak's second-in-command. It's broken, though.”

Lizenne gave her a narrow look. “It shouldn't have done that. Drones have no loyalty programming. They have no autonomy at all. The concept of friendship does not apply to them, and it should not have been actively helping you. Did you make any significant changes in its programming?”

“No,” Pidge said, “I mean, I fiddled around with it a little to enhance its sensory suite and range, but that's all.”

“And yet it gave the life that it did not have to save yours.” Lizenne's expression grew decisive. “Show me that drone.”

A little time later in the lab, Lizenne held the small dead machine in her hands, peering intently at its innards. “Rover was pretty badly banged up,” Pidge said sadly. “I fixed it up as well as I could, but something's wrong in there and I can't get it to reactivate.”

“This was alive.” Lizenne said softly, “It was alive, and it loved you.”

“It was?” Pidge stared in amazement at the drone. “It did?”

“Machine life. The only other known examples of it are the Lions and this ship. That big green beast has probably been studying you since you found it.” Lizenne smiled sadly and placed the drone back down on the table gently. “Ye gods, what a privilege, and what a burden. I wonder if I dare give you the keys to unlock yourself. I can't teach you a thing.”

Pidge slammed her hands down on the table. “What? What are you talking about?”

“You gave life to a disposable security machine,” Lizenne said, pointing at the drone. “You probably haven't been able to speak to the Castle since it's already alive and bonded to the Princess, and it will heed no one else's will unless she gives them that privilege herself. Have you worked with any other Galra-made robot?”

“One of the Sentries,” Pidge admitted. “It was stubborn, though, and it took a while to get it to talk.”

Lizenne shot her a sharp look and leaned both hands on the table. “You got a Sentry to talk. How long did you work on it?”

“About fifteen, twenty minutes.”

Lizenne rubbed at her eyes. “Pidge, the Sentries are guaranteed unhackable. That's why the armies use them. Whole civilizations have been trying to crack their code for centuries. You did it in less than half an hour. That's not genius, that's _impossible.”_

_That_ took Pidge aback. “Do you think that my bond with the Lion is boosting it?”

“It's very possible.” Lizenne sighed and muttered in a low voice, “I have declared _kheshveg._ I will not disdain any weapon that comes to my hand. I will, however, be very nervous about it for a while. Pidge, the first exercise that I will give you is this—you must learn to listen. That is the heart and core of magic. I've already been teaching you and the others how to do that with the team exercises. Sit in a darkened room and listen to the Castle. Just listen, don't try to speak to it. Hear the energy flows, the mechanisms, feel it from bow to stern in your own heart. Do it right and you won't need a map to find your way around the ship. You'll see it, shining in your mind like a jewel. Your first assignment, once you've managed that, is to use that technique to find out if there are any more glitches in the system or any more broken Sentries in the basement. Play with those, if you like, but do not try to speak to the Castle without Allura's permission. It may be programmed to strike out against anyone who tries to influence it in this way. It probably already knows you for a friend, but there are limits.”

“Gotcha!” Pidge said, much encouraged, and then sobered. “Will I be able to do anything for Rover?”

Lizenne shook her head. “No idea. Probably not. No witch has ever been able to return true life to the dead. Let it be a reminder to you that you must not waste what you awaken. Go and study.”

Pidge turned to leave, but glanced back. “What will happen if I do master this?”

Lizenne spread her arms helplessly, but smiled. “It's beyond my comprehension. I don't do machines very well, remember? I can service the simpler bits of a starship and run a home computer and a gene-lab, I can certainly swear at an AI until it blushes, but I can't see how it thinks. For all I know, you'll steal whole armies of Sentries at a time, or you'll be sitting in Voltron when some vital connection is made and you'll steal every ship in Zarkon's navy. Or you'll sneak into Haggar's lab and get it to turn against her. Do not consider anything to be impossible because I'm not sure that anything truly is at this point. Why not? Become the goddess in the machine, Pidge, and never let anyone tell you to back down. Just remember the drone and the price of the drone, and that sometimes losing one life is losing ten lives too many. Go and study. You have a long way to go before you're lining up Sentries for dancing lessons.”

“Right,” Pidge said, unable to quell a smile at that image; her brother had once shown her an old video from one of his history courses of a group of people doing a rather odd dance. The thought of a hundred Galra robots doing the... what was it called?... the “Macarena” appealed to her. Then something else occurred to her. “Just one more thing, Lizenne. Um. Modhri told me... that I could... uh...”

Blushing again, she leaned forward and whispered urgently into Lizenne's ear. Lizenne burst into peals of laughter. “That naughty man! He's quite correct, I'm afraid, although don't try it on him. He's mine, and anyone trying to poach him away from me will meet with my wrath. You might want to carry a vial of strong sedative with you, just in case you have to use your feminine wiles on someone. It's far gentler to put the poor boy under, rather than leaving him to pine after you. Quieter, too. My older sister loved to play that prank on the neighbor's boys, and guess who had to clean up after her?”

Pidge gave her an embarrassed grin and headed off to do some homework.

 

It was very late. It was probably also early, but Hunk was still having a little trouble with Altean time measurements and wasn't sure. Ticks or seconds, it didn't matter; each one that passed was carrying him further from home. To distract himself, he wandered into the kitchen and ran up a few tanrook buns, then carried the steaming bowl out to the lounge to watch the stars. They were beautiful, shining like diamonds scattered over a million miles of black silk, but none of them were his. He thought of his family, his future, and his current situation, and wondered if he'd ever be able to go home again. Sunk deep into his thoughts, it was some time before he realized that he wasn't alone. Two very large warm presences had come silently out of the shadows of the darkened lounge to sit down on either side of him, starlight glinting off of their scales and making their eyes shine like those of a cat's. Like very big, spiky, six-eyed cats. Tilla whiffled at him softly.

“Hey, guys,” Hunk said in a quiet voice, reaching out to pat Soluk's foreleg. “I'll bet that you're even more homesick than I am right now, and a lot less comfortable. I just need a bed and a place to work. You guys need like a thousand miles of grassland or something. And your pack. It's no fun being all alone out here, isn't it?”

Soluk grunted and Tilla leaned down and licked Hunk's cheek, very gently. He rubbed the scales under her chin. “I bet your folks are just as upset as mine have to be right now. Hah. I've got this mental picture of my grandma, waving her cane at Voltron and yelling at him for kidnapping me. She'd do it, too. At least if you get to go home, you can stay there. I don't think that we've got that option.”

Soluk made an odd, questioning sound, eyes gleaming like gems in the cold light of the stars.

“It's not just fighting Zarkon,” Hunk said, “Even if we do manage to take that guy down, we're going to be cleaning up bits and pieces of his Empire for the rest of our lives. When we get too old to fight, we'll have to train new Paladins, and _they're_ going to spend their whole lives putting out fires, too, and probably the ones that come after them. The real trick, though, will be keeping the whole universe from wiping out the Galra.”

Tilla rumbled and sniffed at his bowl of buns. Hunk passed her one, barely noticing what he was doing. “It would be ironic, right? If Lizenne and Modhri wound up being the only two left. It's happened to a lot of other folks, and the survivors are going to remember that. I never got better than a passing grade in History class, but I remember that there were a lot of times in our own history where that sort of thing happened. The meaner you are to the people you conquer, the worse the backlash is going to be. Nobody in power ever thinks about the consequences of being evil. A lot of innocent people are probably going to die because Zarkon's a ten-thousand-year jerk.”

Soluk hissed and vented a soft _“tuh”._

“I mean, I like Lizenne, and Modhri's a neat guy, but I haven't met any other Galra who wasn't actively trying to kill me. I just hate that I'll probably never be able to find out if our friends are the only good ones. I really wish that we didn't have to fight them.”

Tilla heaved a huge, bacon-scented sigh and shifted, bringing one arm forward so that he could lean on it. Hunk did so, with a care for her sharp scales. “All I ever wanted to do was to be a good engineer. I didn't sign up to be a superhero. It's not as much fun as it looks, is it? I mean, don't get me wrong, the robots are awesome and it's great getting to meet whole new alien civilizations, but I really don't like getting shot at, and... to tell you the truth, I don't like the odds. There is only one Voltron, after all. I just wish I knew why Zarkon wants it so bad.”

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and stared at the floor. “So bad that he spends ten millennia killing other people's planets looking for it. What's he going to do with it, anyway? He's already got like a zillion huge battleships and he's already the toughest guy on the block. He doesn't need Voltron anymore, so why does he want it so much?”

Soluk grunted and lifted a paw, using a single clawtip to activate the nearby terminal. Hunk stared at the big dragon as he very delicately accessed a particular file, the contents of which caught his attention immediately. “Hey, that's stuff from home!”

It was mostly newsnet articles, none of them recent, with a healthy scattering of movies, e-books, scientific data, technical manuals, and, for some reason, a collection of platypus pictures. Hunk slid into the chair and began looking for dates. “This is the stuff she downloaded when she delivered our messages to Earth. Wow. She was interested in everything, wasn't she?”

Tilla chirruped agreeably.

“I mean, how to build your own portable power source is one thing, but traditional basketweaving techniques? Oh, here—pottery, too. Somehow, I don't see her playing in the mud much.”

Soluk chuffed and tapped an icon. The article that came up startled Hunk into silence. Right there on the screen was a slightly blurry video loop of the blue Lion, flying in wild circles over the badlands. “Wow.” Hunk breathed, reading the headline. “'Giant cat robot spotted near Galaxy Garrison. Conspiracy theorists allege alien activity.' No it wasn't. Well, it was, sorta, but Lance was driving. Huh. He's gotten better at it since then.”

Other articles bubbled up on the screen at the touch of a button, and Hunk had a hard time keeping himself from bursting into tears. THREE STUDENTS VANISH FROM GALAXY GARRISON, one headline screamed, ALIEN ABDUCTION POSSIBLE

STUDENT RECENTLY EXPELLED FROM GALAXY GARRISON ALSO MISSING; CONSPIRACISTS ALLEGE HIM TO BE ALIEN RECRUITER

GALAXY GARRISON DENIES ALL ACCUSATIONS OF ALIEN ACTIVITY

FAMILIES OF MISSING STUDENTS ALLEGE COVER-UP, GALAXY GARRISON DENIES THIS

FAMILIES OF MISSING STUDENTS SUE, DEMAND INFORMATION

DIRECTOR OF GALAXY GARRISON THREATENED BY GRANDMOTHER OF MISSING STUDENT, IS WARNED, “BRING MY GRANDSON BACK OR THERE WILL BE HELL TO PAY”

 

Hunk sniffled and smiled. “Good old grandma. Hey, what's this?”

 

ALIEN SHIP ARRIVES WITH MESSAGES FROM MISSING STUDENTS, INSULTS DIRECTOR OF GALAXY GARRISON, SAYS SECRECY IS “STUPID” AND “RUDE”

GOVERNMENT REFUSES TO RELEASE MESSAGES FROM MISSING STUDENTS TO NEWSNETS

 

Hunk frowned. “Hold on, she said that they left right after making the drop. How'd she know about this?”

Tilla grunted and tapped the screen, bringing up an article about a bunch of college students who had constructed a small but functional orbital satellite out of parts that they'd found in the basement. Apparently, the thing had been launched and tested without official permissions, and the local authorities weren't sure whether to give them all scholarships to a major science academy or a month or two in jail. Hunk snorted in amusement. “I get it, they left a satellite. Well, I'd want to keep an eye on the place, too. Hey...”

 

FAMILIES OF MISSING STUDENTS MAKE PERSONAL MESSAGES PUBLIC

PUBLIC DEMANDS WHOLE STORY

 

“I bet they did. It's kinda neat, getting your own media feeding frenzy. I've gotta show this to the guys.” Hunk tapped a button for more, but that was it. “So, what's your point, Soluk?”

Soluk collapsed the news articles, switching to a few pages of a comic book where a villain that bore a remarkable resemblance to Zarkon was posturing at his foes. Soluk's clawtip tapped that image, bringing it up sharp and clear. “Yeah, all right, Zarkon. What about him?”

Another tap of a claw brought up an article about a new street drug in Europe, one that gave its users a feeling of immortality and infinite power while spurring them to violent acts. There had been numerous murders already. “Yeah, I heard about that stuff. It's instantly addictive, too, and they haven't had any luck in breaking the habit.”

Soluk tapped the image of the greenish pills, and then the image of the supervillain. “Zarkon's an addict? It can't be to that stuff, some creep in a lab right there on Earth synthesized it out of bad booze and furniture polish.”

Tilla blew a raspberry in his ear. Soluk brought up an image of a sunset over a tropical ocean. The blaze of golden light was a good enough clue. “All right, all right, sorry. The Galra are using Quintessence as a power source, I get that. So, he's taking it like it was a drug, then. He's a power junkie.”

The claw tapped again, bringing up a few stills from what seemed to be an old video game. “Hey, I've played this one! My cousin has a huge collection of old RPG's, and he used to keep us kids riveted for hours while he played them. This one was... can't remember the name. Xeno-something. That was the rat guy who betrayed the heroes because the bad guys offered to make him strong...” Hunk trailed off, staring at the caption, which read _“...it feels so good.”_ Hunk shivered. “I think I see. It feels really good to be that powerful, if you've been weak before.”

Soluk tapped the screen again, bringing up an article that Hunk recognized. “Oh, this guy. That serial killer over in Florida. One of his victims survived, and she told police that he told her that he wasn't going to stop until someone killed him, and that the only thing that could kill him was something greater than he was. It was true, too. A train hit his car during a car chase and smeared him across a half-mile of track. Zarkon won't stop until we take him down, huh?”

Tilla churred. Soluk bobbed his head and touched another control, bringing up a video clip of a speaker giving a lecture. _“...the most dangerous individual in the world is an ordinary citizen who is suddenly no longer required to take 'no' for an answer...”_

Hunk swallowed hard, remembering certain names out of his own planet's history, names that hadn't meant anything before their owners had come to power and now were synonymous with unimaginable evil. “Wow. So, he's escalating, and Voltron's the key to that, and it's up to us to stop him before he wipes everything out, huh?”

Soluk tapped the screen again, and a man in a black mask said, _“...it is your destiny.”_

“Thanks.” Hunk scrubbed wearily at his eyes. “I just wish that I knew why I was chosen for this job.”

Soluk shrugged. Tilla tapped the screen, bringing up an article. The headline read: LOCAL FIREHOUSE TURNS DOWN OFFER OF VOLUNTEER WORK FROM CLOWN COLLEGE; FIRE CHIEF SAYS “THANKS, BUT NO THANKS”

Hunk laughed and patted her elbow. “You're right. There's nobody else I'd trust to do this work. Thanks, guys. I'll try to get some sleep now.”

Tilla leaned down and nibbled his hair affectionately, and Soluk rumbled. Yawning, Hunk wandered off to bed.

 

Keith was breathing hard and trying to concentrate; his foe was fast and agile, and had the advantage where it came to mobility and reach. He already had the measure of her best trick, though—she liked to make four or five short jumps, then one or two longer jumps at odd angles, and then jump behind him. Often right behind him, inside the reach of his bayard where he couldn't hit her. Each short jump took about a half-second, almost three-quarters of a second for the longer ones, and he could usually infer her future positions from her previous ones. Usually. All right, maybe half the time--

All thought ceased when Lance crashed into him again, knocking them both to the floor in a protesting heap. “What the heck are you doing, Lance?” Keith shouted, giving his teammate a bonk on the helmet with the butt of his bayard.

“Trying to win this fight,” Lance snapped back, trying to punch back and missing, “you're the one who's not looking where he's going. I thought you were supposed to be good at this.”

“I can see where I'm going just fine, you idiot! You're the one who's flailing around like a monkey!”

“That's enough, you two,” Shiro sighed, “for the fifth time, get up and stop yelling at each other. Are you feeling up to another try, Lizenne?”

Lizenne was leaning against the far wall, watching the fun, tapping one end of her quarterstaff on the floor. “I should be. These two seem to be determined to do my work as well as theirs.”

The team had progressed far enough into their training so that each of them could hold their own against her individually. Facing her talents in pairs had yielded mixed results. Keith and Lance especially had found it difficult to work together and had spent most of their turn on the floor fighting each other. Shiro had had his hands full breaking up squabbles between them all morning and had just about had enough. “Keith, you're too used to acting alone. Lance, stop trying to one-up him all the time. Try again.”

Lizenne chuckled and pushed away from the wall, spinning the staff idly around her hand. “They remind me of my brothers when we were little, always shoving each other around to see who was the strongest. The noise was deafening at times. You like to compete, boys? Then compete. Find a pattern, and challenge each other to keep it up as long as you can. Compete with me. Who will tire out first? I want to win, too. I am the hunter. You are a pair of packmates who have become separated from your fellows, and the both of you look very tasty to me right now.” She bared her teeth in a ferocious grin that would have scared a wolf up a tree. “Act together, or I shall have you both for lunch.”

Both of them flinched at her fierce expression, but her words helped. Numerous sessions of standing in the dark and learning to move as one had built up some useful habits, and having a common enemy was a mighty spur toward unity. Lizenne was pure predator, swaying slowly like an angry cobra; her quarterstaff smacked firmly into her free hand, and then she charged. The Paladins reacted instantly, Keith parrying her strike while Lance sprinted back and to one side, looking for room to fire his bayard. She flicked out as Lance fired, reappearing on his lefthand with staff upraised, but Kieth was already there, smashing the weapon aside. She blinked out again before the blade could touch her, reappeared behind Keith; Lance hurled himself forward, blocking her again with the butt of his weapon. Again, she was gone, reappearing on the far side of the room, and she hurled her staff like a javelin directly at Lance's face. Keith danced back, deflecting the rod, which launched itself toward the ceiling like a rocket. Lizenne was gone again, then back, catching her staff on the fly; she'd only just touched the floor again when Lance cannoned into her, knocking the staff from her hand and her body to the floor. She might have bitten him in the heat of the moment, but the sword point aimed between her eyes stopped that, and so did the applause and cheers from Hunk, Pidge, and Shiro. Lizenne let out a hissing breath and a rueful laugh, pushing the sword aside with a forefinger. “I yield. Well done. Lance, I said that I'll yield, hands off. There's nothing there for you, anyway.”

Lance realized that he had both hands on her chest, blushed furiously, and stood up. “Sorry.”

“Not at all.” She got up, rubbing at her back, and nodded to Keith, who was trying to get his breath back. “Much better. Keep that up and there won't be much that will get past you. Want to try it again, or will you let Pidge and Shiro have a turn?”

Keith shook his head. His arms hurt from his exertions, the long muscles in his legs were quivering, he definitely had bruises from tripping over Lance, and he would have traded Texas for a drink of water right now. “I need a break,” he rasped, putting his bayard away. “You?”

“I could stand to take a breather,” Lance said, sagging a bit and rubbing at one shoulder. “Maybe I should strap pillows all over you next time we do this. Hitting you is like hitting a brick.”

“If it keeps your ten-ton butt from denting my armor, then fine,” Keith retorted, but his heart wasn't in it. “Over to you, guys.”

Pidge bounced up eagerly, followed by Shiro. Pidge had taken to these exercises much more easily than Lance and Keith had, and paired well with everybody. Shiro trained with grim attention to every detail; having suffered at the hands of the Druids, he very much wanted to be able to face them again without risking recapture. Lizenne saw that determination in his face and smiled. “You are of the pack,” she said quietly, “you have become separated from the others and are in my territory. I shall have your flesh to feed to my egglings.”

Pidge grinned at her and drew her bayard, the brief emerald forceblade snapping into being around her hand. “Nope.”

Shiro merely smiled, sliding into a fighting crouch and readying his battle-arm.

Lizenne flashed them a predatory smile and burst into motion, darting to the left in an attempt to flank them; she'd noted that the group was predominantly right-handed, and often tried to take advantage of that. All of the Paladins had bruises from learning that the hard way. Pidge's bayard became a grappling hook that would have tripped her up if she hadn't vanished midstride; Shiro was already turning to where he knew she would reappear—he had felt the aetheric waves of the transition against his nerves like a puff of wind, and felt the pressure of the return burst over... _there._ His arm blocked the strike that would have knocked Pidge flat, and he drove his fist directly at Lizenne's face. She vanished before he could connect, of course, ducking behind him, but Pidge was already there, guarding his back. Lizenne was forced to leap over a slash that would have shattered her knee, and forced again to teleport to dodge a blow from Shiro. She came out again at a bad angle a few yards to the left, but nonetheless landed a glancing blow on Shiro's shoulder before having to flick out again. Shiro barely noticed the impact, and spun around to meet her again, knocking the staff out of Lizenne's hands. Pidge's bayard hissed out again, this time tangling up Lizenne's legs and sending her tumbling with a startled squawk. They had her pinned to the floor in seconds.

“Yield,” Shiro growled.

“I yield,” Lizenne panted. “Well done. You're getting better at spotting me. Gah. And I'm tired enough to make mistakes, which Pidge is all too good at spotting! Let me up, please, I'm going to be as stiff as a plank next morning from all of this as it is.”

Pidge giggled. “Us, too. At least it's all for a good cause. What does a battle between witches look like?”

Lizenne snorted, pulling herself up into a sitting position. “They're rare. Haggar won't permit rivals to her power. They're also very noisy, they tend to leave holes in the walls and furniture, and they're short. Throwing around lightning bolts takes a significant amount of effort, so the combatants don't waste time toying with each other.”

“The Druids took their time with me,” Shiro said, “I remember that one of them took a turn with me in the arena. I... didn't do well.”

“You're not a witch, and the Druids enjoy playing with their prey.” Lizenne pushed herself to her feet, swaying slightly and propping herself against Shiro's shoulder. “Vile things, really. Evil as anything, just ask them. Oooh. No more training today, people. You've gone and worn me out.”

“Are you okay?” Hunk asked, giving her a concerned look.

Lizenne smiled fondly at him, but she was obviously weary. “I just need a nap. Take the afternoon off, Paladins, and exult in your improving skills. Perhaps tomorrow we'll try this in trios, or as a full-team effort. Hah. Or I could throw a lightning bolt or two, just to see you jump.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” Shiro said. “Go and rest.”

Lizenne nodded and wandered out of the room. The Paladins followed suit, shucking off their armor with considerable relief and heading to the lounge to sit and discuss their progress. They found the room already occupied by their housemates, but that was all right. Tilla and Soluk had made it very clear shortly after their arrival that they required a good brushing at least twice a week, and that the opposable-thumb-possessing upright bipeds of the house had the privilege of administering to that duty. Lizenne and Modhri usually took care of that, but this time Coran and Allura had been coaxed into helping. Modhri and Coran were scrubbing vigorously at Soluk's shoulders while Allura polished the small, delicate spines above Tilla's eyes and laughed when the big reptiloid licked her face.

“Lovely creatures, absolutely lovely,” Coran was saying, “my grandfather used to visit Zampedri in the molting season, just to tickle these big lads when they shed their old scales. He had a special set of brushes for that trip, and the dragons would all line up for a good scrub. Kept him busy for days. Understandably, it wasn't a good idea to armwrestle the old man. And of course, he brought back the shed scales to make light armor for the castle guards. Very fashionable to have a dragon-scale jerkin in those days. Light, durable, stylish, and bulletproof.”

“I remember that!” Allura said, scrubbing beneath Tilla's chin. “Father's guards were very proud of them, and were very careful to keep the shoulder spikes properly sharp. I stole one from the Captain of the Guard once, and ran around the Castle all day wearing it. His had the best cape, you see.”

“Capes are nice to look at, I suppose,” Modhri murmured, “some of my commanders liked to wear them on special occasions. The one time I was forced into putting one on, I could barely move without the miserable thing getting snagged on something, including my dress boots. Almost tipped me into the punch bowl at a party.”

Coran patted Soluk's nose and tugged his mustache. “Lack of practice. Why, my own uncle...”

Lance nudged Shiro in the ribs with a smirk. “Maybe we should get some capes to go with our armor. It'd look cool, wouldn't it? And it would tell the whole universe that we're officially superheroes. Maybe I'll get a cape.”

Shiro shook his head and thumped down on a couch. “And give some Galra soldier something to grab you by? Bad idea. Capes are for show.”

“And you get sucked into jet engines a lot,” Hunk put in, sitting down next to him. “No thanks. We don't need them to look like superheroes anyway, 'cause nobody's got armor like ours. There's nowhere to attach a cape on them, anyway.”

There was a trill of laughter from Allura. “Really? I didn't know you could do that.”

“After that much numvill, he certainly could!” Coran said, waving his brush at her. “It took three hours to untangle him from the chandelier and the server drone was never quite the same afterwards. Talented man, was my uncle. Not very bright, but talented.”

Keith and the others sat down with a long sigh. “The comic books and vids don't talk about this part of it much—the training, I mean, unless it's important to the plot. They just come on the scene with their mystic arts or whatever, and fancy weapons, do a few cool moves to win the battle, and vanish into the sunset.”

“And everybody cheers and dances in the street.” Shiro snorted. “I've always wondered who cleans up the messes after all those epic battles. Speaking of mystic arts, Pidge, how are you coming along with those?”

Pidge hummed and leaned forward, ignoring Lance's skeptical _hmph_. “I can feel the whole ship now. It's easier if I don't concentrate too hard, as weird as that sounds. I can see the green Lion the clearest, but she won't talk to me yet. I'm not going to push it, since the ship's AI doesn't really approve of what I'm doing. It's... it's like Allura's father is still in there somehow, sort of. He'll put up with me looking around because I'm a Paladin, but he'll only work the important systems for her. My own computer's a lot easier to make contact with, and some of the Galra stuff that I've had for a while.”

“Might want to focus on those more than the Castle, then. I still like the idea of you taking over the Sentries for us good guys.” Hunk said.

Shiro nodded. “Yeah, me too. If you can sweet-talk a ship's AI into telling you things, it would make our work a lot easier.”

Pidge giggled. “Well, if I can't do that, Modhri told me something that might work. He says that if we catch one of those guys and hold him down, all I have to do to get him to spill the beans is this--”

She reached out and dug her fingers into Keith's dark hair, rubbing him lightly behind the ears. Lance snickered at Keith's startled expression. “That's it?”

“Apparently. I'm not sure if it'll actually work. I think it has to do with their mating rituals, since there are some really big emotional triggers involved.”

“Feels kinda nice,” Keith muttered mistily, a vague, unfocused smile on his face.

They stared at him. Pidge, who had seen that expression before, although not on Keith, snatched her hands back. “All right, I'm officially weirded out now.”

Lance lunged forward and dug his hands into Keith's hair. “I've gotta try that. Talk, Keith, did you or did you not cheat on that test last year?”

The answer he got was a whack across the nose that knocked him off of the couch. “Quit that, you stupid jerk!” Keith snapped.

“Ow!” Lance yelped, clutching at his face. “How come you didn't hit her?”

“She's cute,” Keith said, pointing at Pidge, “you're not. You're also a--”

Pidge gave him a puzzled look. “Since when did you start thinking I was cute? You guys forget that I'm a girl half the time.”

Keith opened his mouth to reply, stopped, looked very confused, and then rubbed at his eyes. “Crap. I've gotta go lie down. See you later.”

Pidge stared at his retreating form, stared at her hands, and then stated, “Really weirded out right now. I've got to go wash these...”

Lance, Shiro, and Hunk watched them go, then shared a puzzled look. “He doesn't look like a purple werewolf,” Lance said. “Much.”

“Nah, he looks like something out of a Seventies cartoon,” Hunk agreed.

“I've known him since he was little,” Shiro said. “He's not a Galra. Maybe he just likes it?”

The others shrugged and turned the discussion over to other topics.

 

Modhri, however, wasn't so sure. His hearing was naturally excellent, given the size of his ears, and he had also seen the dreamy look in Keith's eyes. Still, he kept his mouth shut and his hands busy until Soluk and Tilla had been properly polished before making his way up to the comfortable apartment that he and Lizenne shared. Definitely a step up in the world, there, he mused. The gracefully-appointed room was at least three times the size of the officer's cabin on his old battleship and it was even more luxurious than the captain's bunk on Lizenne's ship. No luxury could possibly could be greater than the sight of Lizenne herself, sprawled in a tangle of blankets and pillows, fast asleep. He didn't have the heart to disturb her, so he made himself comfortable on the carpet next to the bed with one of the logbooks that she'd been able to salvage from the _Chimera's_ databanks before it had blown. After a time, her hand slid out from beneath the sheets to curl around his ear, and he sighed, leaning into her caress.

“Modhri,” she murmured blearily, “was there something?”

“An observation only, and a question,” he replied, brushing his fingers over the fine velvet on the back of her hand, and then described the odd discussion that the Paladins had had earlier. “Is that possible?”

There was a soft, feral growl from beneath the blankets. Lizenne began to swear, a low-voiced litany of foul words from several different worlds. _“Gherunuk,_ ” she grumbled, _“Salput va gnix. Thaash. Halbanalux, cherkharad, spaf, solatoot dex carbul._ _Quiznek.”_ She shifted, tugging gently on his ear. “It might be. It wouldn't be the first time, after all. _Belgium,_ I say.”

Modhri winced at her vile language. “I know. Is there any way to be sure?”

“Not without a fully-equipped gene-lab and at least two known samples. Damn. Well, I'll keep an eye on it. If nothing else, it'd be a fine irony, wouldn't it?” Lizenne sighed. “It would certainly explain his reflexes and attitude.”

Modhri nodded. “If it is true, it's just as well that he's too young for anything more than a sibling-bond. Just as well, really. If they'd both been just a little older... now, wouldn't _that_ have upset Pidge?”

There was a snort of wicked laughter from the bed, and her hand swatted him lightly over the head. “Like we didn't have enough to worry about already! Go find me something to eat, Modhri. Those proud warriors ran me ragged today, and I'm going to start gnawing on the mattress soon.”

Modhri smiled, getting up. “Yes, my Lady.”

 

Shiro couldn't sleep. It happened now and again. It was mostly stress, he knew, and homesickness, and the sheer enormity of the task that he and the others had been given. Plus a dose of good old-fashioned insomnia. Despite the efforts of the day, he simply couldn't get his tired mind to stop spinning. Out of habit, he headed down to the training deck; perhaps a little light exercise might warm up his muscles and ease his mind.

He soon found that someone else had beaten him to it. He heard it first—a peculiar thudding that sounded almost like a heartbeat, much-magnified and oddly metallic, and very familiar. The same sound, or almost, that the Lions made while running over rocky terrain. Curious, he followed the sound into one of the smaller training rooms and found the answer to the mystery: the dragons had found a way to keep themselves fit.

A large section of flooring had become a very large treadmill, and the two huge reptiloids were galloping side-by-side in perfect step, their six blue eyes meditative, their breathing coming in regular _chuffs._ They were magnificent to watch. They moved almost exactly like the Lions did, with great powerful surges of shoulder and hip, exquisitely balanced and apparently unstoppable. It was astonishing, really, and he wondered what their bones were made of. They were as big as elephants and probably as heavy, but no elephant alive could do what these big fellows were doing.

He spotted a bench pushed up against one wall and went over to sit on it, unwilling to leave. There was something soothing about the way the dragons were moving, and about their very presence. Shiro envied Lizenne a bit for having been able to attach Tilla and Soluk to her household. The best that your basic Earthling could hope for was a big dog. Or a wolf, in certain rare cases. His father had kept an Akita, which had been both, sort of. He'd loved that bearlike hound.

He was nodding off when a big scaly nose nudged his shoulder, and he looked blearily up into six large blue eyes. “Oh, hey, Tilla,” he muttered. “Sorry, just a little lonely, I guess.”

Tilla made an odd little twittering noise and nudged him again, and he got up with a groan. He'd stiffened up and had to steady himself against her shoulder, lest he simply fall over. Soluk rumbled at him and jerked his huge head at a side door. Shiro nodded and followed, barely awake, into a room that he'd never noticed. Probably a private meditation space or something, his overtired mind told him, or at least it had been originally. Right now, the floor had been covered with a massive tangle of cushions and blankets, and even a few stolen mattresses. Tilla nudged him into the center of the room and pushed him down onto the heap before flopping down next to him. Shiro laughed softly. Tilla's belly scales were smooth and flat, and she radiated heat like a furnace. Soluk settled himself down with slightly more dignity, but the invitation was clear. Shiro considered the effort of walking back to his own quarters and found it a Herculean task. Staying right here was a better idea, he thought, so he kicked off his boots and snuggled down. He was out like a light two seconds later.

 

And dreamed.

 

He knew he was dreaming, too, which was a little strange, but it was only a vague observation, quickly forgotten, for he was standing among the stars. There were millions of them, hot and brilliant all around him, and a web of golden filaments connected each one, like beaded lacework. Each thread was thin, but strong, and and branched off in thousands of different directions. It was beautiful. “What is this?” he whispered into the darkness of space.

_Tahe Moq,_ someone whispered back.

Shiro blinked and looked around, but he was the only one present. “I don't understand.”

_Look closer,_ he was told, and the stars spun around him, growing bigger until he could see the tiny spheres of planets circling them. Each planet was connected to its star and to each other by those filaments, only now they could be seen to be great ropes of golden force, comprised of millions of finer threads.

_Closer,_ the whispering voice told him.

He focused on one single world and felt a deep pang of homesickness. It was Earth, shining like a gem inside its own thick network of golden lines, the tiny pale orb of the Moon caught up within it as well.

_Closer,_ he was told, and then he was standing on his own home ground. Just over that hill was his own family's house, but he couldn't see it from where he stood. It was nighttime, and in the moonlit shadows, he could see the fine golden threads linking everything around him together, every leaf and blade of grass. He was a part of it, too.

_Yes,_ the voice told him,  _all that lives is part of Tahe Moq. Feel it._

And he could. The grass under his bare feet was cool and moist and so very alive. He could feel every tree, every animal and insect. Over the hill, he could feel the shape of his family's house and the people sleeping within it. He could feel the nearby river and the rich variety of small life that swam in it, the city in the distance, and more. When he looked up at the Moon, he could sense the scientific research station on it, and the stars themselves clamored with distant voices. And sudden silences. Lots of sudden silences, and those horrified him right down into the deepest levels of his being. He could see the gaping tears in the golden lacework of  _Tahe Moq,_ and recoiled from them.

_Tahe Moq has an Enemy,_ the voice murmured softly,  _the Enemy has tools of great strength._

“How can I stop them?” Shiro asked.

_Tahe Moq also has tools._

The black Lion was suddenly just  _there,_ looming over him in the moonlight, golden eyelights burning in the great metal head. Shiro realized that he was wearing his armor.

_You are given this choice,_ the voice told him, and he realized that it was actually two voices speaking in perfect unison.  _You will give your life to face the Enemy, or the Enemy will take that life from you._

“I can't do it alone,” Shiro said.

_You are never alone._

He could feel them then, the other Lions and their Paladins. Asleep, dreaming, far and far away, and yet as near to him as the house over the hill.

_They are given the same choice. There will be other choices. All things that live are connected._

Shiro saw his own connection to the Lion, which bowed to him, opening its vast jaws to offer him its pilot's seat. He also saw a thick cord leading from the great beast's heart to some unimaginable destination in the stars. It was more like a chain, actually, and discolored at the far end. He laid a hand on one great metal fang in sympathy, and noticed that his own arm, the mechanical replacement that had been forced on him, had a similar thread leading up and away. “Still tied to that creep. Can we break that?”

_The Enemy seeks to take for itself the tools of Tahe Moq. Tahe Moq seeks to take for itself the tools of the Enemy_ . 

“So, it's all the same, then?” Shiro asked.

_It is the difference between being and not being. You are given the right to choose between them._

He considered that for a time, and then made his choice.

Shiro settled into the pilot's seat, and the Lion carried him away.

 

 


	9. Looking Ahead

Chapter 9: Looking Ahead

 

Hunk yawned hugely and nearly fell face-first into his breakfast when his elbow slipped on the table. That yawn was echoed foursquare around the table; none of the Paladins were feeling particularly alert. Even Shiro had been late to breakfast, and Lizenne and Modhri were entirely absent. This was not something that escaped Allura's notice.

“Whatever is wrong with you today?” she asked. “Did you train too hard?”

“No,” Hunk said, straightening up with an effort, “It's just that some nights, sleeping is harder work than being awake is.”

Pidge flicked a dirty look at Lance. “I didn't have any trouble waking up. Not with Lance yelling that his head was made of blueberry pizza. What the heck, Lance, and what was with that weird voice you were using?”

Lance was rubbing at his eyes, which felt like they'd been rolled in ground pepper. “It's from a kid's book,” he said over a few stifled snickers from the others. “I had a dream where I was reading it to a couple of my cousins. It was great, but I had to go with the blue Lion, 'cause if I didn't, they wouldn't be there to read anything to ever again. Somebody was giving me a choice—stay with my folks and do nothing, or face a huge evil.”

Pidge was staring at him now, and so were the rest of his teammates. “I had a dream like that too. I had to go with the green Lion to keep something evil from taking other people's families away from them.”

“So did I,” Keith said, “only for me, it was either get into the red Lion or watch everyone lose their freedom forever.”

“Me too!” Hunk said, suddenly wide awake. “I had to go with the yellow Lion or everyone's world would die, like the Balmera almost did.”

“I was asked to give my life to face the enemy,” Shiro said, “if I didn't, the enemy would take it from me. I'm not sure exactly what they meant by that. There are a lot of things that it could mean. It wouldn't be the first time that someone asked that of me, anyway—I'm military, or I was, and soldiers risk their lives to protect others all the time. I chose to fight.”

The others indicated that they'd chosen the same.

Coran leaned forward over his bowl of pink stuff with an eyebrow upraised and a sharp look directed at the Paladins. “Sounds like you've just had a genuine prophetic dream,” he declared. “Not too uncommon among previous Paladins, although they weren't usually so clear. Why, one young fellow once had one where he was being chased by huge piles of--”

Thankfully, Modhri came in through the door at that point, also looking weary. “Morning, all. Sorry I'm late, but I was up and back from the kitchen all night.”

Allura eyed him with concern. “Are you all right? Where's Lizenne?”

Modhri got a plate from the dispenser and sat down with a tired grunt. “I'm fine, just a little underslept. Lizenne's in the bath and will be down in a little while. My prideful and arrogant Lady will never admit it, but you lot ran her right into the ground yesterday. Teleportation and hitting young warriors with sticks uses up an enormous amount of energy; she spent the entire night alternately sleeping like the dead and sending me out for food. When that appetite was finally slaked, she found herself as stiff as a sheet of hullplate. The hot soak is helping, but she won't come down until she's fully dry. Pass the baked sorlan, please.”

“Why not?” Allura asked, passing him a bowl of something green.

“To spare your sensibilities,” Modhri smirked. “Have you ever smelled a wet Galra, especially one who's just spent an hour or two in a simulated hotspring? It's not a pleasant odor by anyone's standards. We're probably the only race ever to invent the waterless sanitary booth before the internal combustion engine.”

Allura giggled, a sentiment echoed by the others. “So, no odd dreams?”

Modhri shrugged. “I didn't have time. Lizenne didn't mention having any. Why?”

“Because we did.” Shiro turned to face Modhri squarely, leaning his battle-arm on the table. “Modhri, who or what is _Tahe Moq?”_

The others looked up in surprise. “That was part of my dream!” Hunk yelped, “And Lizenne said those words while magicking you out of Sendak's clutches, too.”

The others indicated, loudly, that they'd noticed the same. Modhri had gone very still, looking troubled. Eventually, he heaved a sigh and explained.

“I can only tell you what Lizenne told me, and that isn't much. Men have no business with witchery.”

“I'm listening,” Shiro said gently.

Modhri nodded.  _ “Tahe Moq _ is a very, very old Galran term,” he began in a quiet tone. “It translates, more or less, as 'blood of creation'.”

“Ew,” Pidge said.

“We're predators. What did you expect?” Modhri smiled faintly and continued. “Legend has it that back in the very beginning of everything, only two things existed: a vastness of Oblivion, and one tiny hot point of... something. Everything. 'Tiny', of course, isn't an exact measurement; it could have been enormous, but it was very small in comparison to the nothingness around it. Oblivion was determined to erase and unmake this mote, and the mote was determined to exist. For an unguessable time they strove, equally matched. Then, at one point, Oblivion made a mistake, allowing the mote just that one tiny sliver of room to move. It screamed _life_ into the heart of nothingness, and burst, and in that bursting the universe was made. The very substance of life is _Tahe Moq,_ which connects and binds everything. Lizenne says that the network resembles the veins of a living creature, and that the life energy flows through it in much the same way. Oblivion's been trying to reverse that event ever since.”

“Sounds like Quintessence,” Coran observed.

“You've just described the big bang theory and the origin myths of a bunch of religions,” Pidge added.

Modhri nodded. “Lizenne told me that every intelligent race has at least one version of that story, even races that live on the bottoms of oceans, and Quintessence is very real. This argues that the story, or parts of it, are true.  _Tahe Moq_ is also the name of an aetheric discipline—a school of magic, if you will, that existed well before Zarkon took the throne. Its practitioners studied those flows of life force and how to manipulate them. It's said that Queen Zaianne was one of them, and that she and her companions used that discipline to fend off the Imperial Sisters. That was no small task. Haggar and her Druids are pale imitations of those two terrors, if the stories are to be believed.”

“Cool,” Lance said, “so, if we can find some more ladies from that school, can we persuade them to turn Zarkon into a desk lamp or something? He'd make a really neat desk lamp.”

Modhri shook his head. “That school no longer exists. It's said that Haggar herself stole their wisdom and destroyed them all to keep anyone else from obtaining that knowledge. Just why she did that is a mystery. She was on Zaianne's side during the Sisterhood War.”

Allura stared at him. “Then... who did Lizenne learn it from?”

Modhri chuckled and speared a chunk of sorlan out of the bowl. “From the same people that our distant ancestors learned it from. The dragons. If you've been having dreams about _Tahe_ _Moq,_ that's where they've been coming from. Tilla and Soluk, who have been masters of the Art for longer than I've been alive, and know how and where to use it. People tend to assume that those big silly lizards are her pets. The reverse is true. They gave up the trappings of civilization long ago so that they wouldn't come to the attention of the greedy. It's a wonderful disguise. I'd try it myself, but people yell at me if I wander around without clothes on.”

“Then why haven't _they_ turned Zarkon into a desk lamp yet?” Lance demanded, “They've only had, like, ten thousand years to think about it.”

Modhri munched thoughtfully on his forkful of sorlan. “I have no idea. I'm not even sure if they can do that sort of thing. I've seen Lizenne manipulate plants now and again, and sometimes insects or small animals. Never to hurt them, of course, and she always undoes those changes before letting them go. Haggar and her Druids blend living flesh and machine systems together with great enthusiasm, and they're quite capable of blowing holes in things. I don't know if either school of magic can change the whole state of an object or creature—other than from being alive to being dead. Like any Galra man surrounded by scheming mages, all I can do is lie low and hope like hell that they know what they're doing.”

Keith tapped his fork absently on the table, then asked, “Can you tell us why they gave us that dream?”

Modhri frowned at his breakfast. “Maybe. Were you offered a choice between action and inaction?”

“Yes.” Keith looked around the table. “We chose action.”

Modhri nodded. “Your resolve was being tested, then, and you've passed. Lizenne and I have both had dreams of that nature. She's being taught a very rare and dangerous form of magic, and I... well, I'm not sure, but they all worked very hard to ensure that I recovered from my wounds, both physical and mental. We all have parts to play in this adventure, and we must be ready for them. Coran, Allura, have you had any such dreams?”

“Some,” Coran waved a hand airily. “I just figured that I'd had a bit too much parvlet before going to bed. Good stuff, very nutritious, but it can make sleeping a bit dramatic.”

Allura nodded, looking troubled. “Once, not long after you and Lizenne joined us. I was told to be ready if... if we should lose one of the Paladins. Not that we would, but there was a chance that that might happen. It was a warning. Can the dragons predict the future?”

Modhri shrugged. “Possibly. Lizenne can scry a little way, but she's not very good at it. The universe, it seems, prefers to play its cards close to its chest. You could ask the dragons, I suppose, but you're not likely to get a clear answer.”

“They say _'gronk',”_ Pidge said. “I've tried that already.”

Modhri snorted. “Good enough. Scrying's an inexact art at the best of times. She's better at seeing the past, especially if she's got an artifact to work with. The past doesn't dodge around like the future does, she says, although it tends to be foggy at times, especially with very old items.”

“How old?” Keith asked.

Modhri hummed around another bite of sorlan. “Fossils are the worst, she says. She has a little fossilized braxis in amber that she keeps as a luck charm, roughly two hundred and fifty million years old. She uses it for practice whenever Tilla thinks that she's been slacking off in her studies. Anything within recorded history is much easier.”

Keith nodded, eyes calculating.

 

Lizenne appeared on the training deck just as she'd promised, fur glossy and quarterstaff in hand. Modhri and Coran had joined them as well, to use one of the side chambers for a little exercise. “I'm out of shape,” Modhri admitted. “Coran's agreed to help me with that.”

“Soon have you fighting-fit, so I will,” Coran boasted, or threatened, as the case may be. “You'll be ripping up Sentries with your bare hands when I'm done with you.”

Lizenne wasn't impressed. “Don't overwork him, and be very careful with the left shoulder. I had a miserable time rebuilding that, and if you skew that joint I will personally separate you from your _hapleks._ Am I clear?”

Coran gulped. “Crystal,” then, in a whispered undertone to Modhri, “a bit overprotective, isn't she?”

“I wouldn't have it any other way,” Modhri replied happily.

Shiro nodded to Lizenne. “Feeling up to a few team exercises?”

“Yeah, you promised us lightning this time,” Hunk said, and fidgeted nervously, “although I really don't know why I should be happy about that. Maybe because you're not actually trying to kill us.”

Lizenne snapped her fingers, summoning a shard of golden light. “Only a little. You've got to learn how to deal with a real challenge somehow. Although--” her quarterstaff smacked into Lance's breastplate with a clang that knocked him over, “--that might change without warning. Don't do that, Lance.”

Lance had been curious ever since breakfast; he was familiar now with how Galra smelled up close, a vaguely doggish aroma that made him a little homesick. His family had several dogs of various sizes, from his cousin George's hulking back-alley mutt to his great-aunt's pomeranian, and he and his brothers had grown up being herded around by his uncle's two border collies. One of the frequent chores that he and the other kids had been given was to wash the dogs whenever they'd been rolling in something, which was often, and he had boasted to his friends that he could tell breeds of dog apart just from how they smelled when they were wet. On impulse, he'd taken a sniff of Lizenne's shoulder-length hair and had registered an odd mix of exotic spices and damp german shepherd before she'd knocked him flat. “Ow! What'd I do?”

She pointed at Modhri, who was giving him a very hard look. “You're making promises that you aren't going to be able to keep. Modhri is a wonderfully tolerant sort, but you're encroaching on his bond with me, and he will kill you if you take it any further.”

Lance gave them both a mystified look. “Huh?”

Modhri took a deep breath to calm himself. “It's instinctive. Please remember that for every hundred male Galra, there are perhaps five to seven females. I _must_ defend my claim, just as she'll defend hers. Catching a woman's scent like that is the first way a man shows that he's interested in her, and it is not wise to approach a woman who has already made her choice.”

“Sounds like something we should know more about,” Keith said, helping Lance up. “Care to tell us what we shouldn't be doing?”

Modhri nodded and beckoned them over into a corner, while Lizenne leaned patiently against the wall. Coran joined her there, tugging on his mustache. “Romance must be a tad exciting where you come from, eh?”

“You could say that,” Lizenne said, watching Modhri lecture the Paladins. Some of the hand gestures were very amusing. “Competition is always fierce. It's one of the reasons why we females tend to be solitary. The noise is deafening, and that interrupts our studies. It's necessary, though. A woman must choose the best male she can find, so that the cubs will be strong and healthy.”

“And Modhri's the best.” Coran observed.

Lizenne nodded. “He is. I'd had my eye on him for years. There are others who are bigger, stronger, and fiercer, oh yes. Modhri has heart, character, and kindness. He's a bit of a throwback, but I like that in a man.”

Coran considered that. “Yeah, I recall your people from before we went into the cryo-pods. A bit aggressive, but not bad chaps. Zarkon didn't do you any favors after he took over, did he? There were rumors of breeding programs and the like, even in my time.”

Lizenne tapped the butt of her staff on the floor. “Not just breeding programs. We've been fiddling around with our own genetics since well before the Sisterhood War. Zarkon's been encouraging his people toward the birth of the perfect soldier since he took the throne, and it's had some unfortunate side-effects on the general population.”

“I can see that.” Coran rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. “You don't seem to be affected much.”

Lizenne vented a puff of bleak laughter. “You never saw me as a teenager. Believe me, I was no prize! It took a great deal of wandering around the universe to knock the rough edges off, and I didn't really start to improve until I met the dragons. Seven Zampedran years of being bullied into good behavior by a pair of oversized venomous lizards does leave a mark, Coran, and I'm still an arrogant and domineering _bitra_ at times. Modhri doesn't mind—he expects it of me, because it means that I'll tear the heart out of the universe itself to keep him and our potential children safe.”

“Hopefully it won't come to that,” Coran mused. “Congratulations on your finding him, by the way. He's an excellent fellow.”

“Thank you.”

Modhri straightened up and crossed his arms. “That should do it,” he said. “Just don't do any of that and you should be safe enough in mixed company. Now go play with Lizenne.”

The Paladins were looking a little shell-shocked, and they stared owlishly at her for a long moment before Lance nervously raised a hand. “Um, is it true about the thing with the thumbnails?”

“It's traditional,” Lizenne said promptly, “but only in extreme cases. Get on deck.”

He scuttled off, whimpering “please don't kill me, please don't kill me” as he did so, the others close behind him.

Coran chuckled. “Abject terror. Just what I like to see in a cadet. Come on, Modhri, let's get you warmed up. Have fun, Lizenne.”

Lizenne cackled and headed on deck.

 

Later on, Keith wondered if perhaps the thing with the thumbnails might have been easier to deal with. Lizenne's magic lightning bursts hadn't stung any worse than the castle's invisible maze had, but her aim was vicious. It would be a while before Lance could walk straight again and Shiro had needed to call a halt twice to regain his composure. Pidge, being the smallest and most agile of them had done fairly well, but Hunk had had a hard time dodging. Keith himself still tingled in spots whenever he moved. Nonetheless, they'd managed to work together through it to bring her down twice, which was better than anyone had expected. She'd vanished into the depths of the Castle after that, promising them another session the following morning if nothing more interesting happened.

The others had been perfectly willing to see her go, but Keith had something that he wanted to ask her about, something that had been bothering him deeply for some time. Lizenne had a tendency to gravitate to the north wing entertainment deck when she didn't want company, so he made his way up there.

She wasn't alone. Soluk was with her, sprawled on his side and taking up most of the floor space while his pet witch sat with her back against his belly scales, examining a palm-sized orange stone. She looked up with what seemed to be relief at his approach. “Yes?”

“I'm sorry to disturb you, but I need to ask you something,” he said diffidently, “I can ask later if--”

“No, please, join me,” Lizenne said, knocking her knuckles on Soluk's nose. “I had rather too much fun chasing you around today, so Soluk has decreed that I must do some homework, since I have so much energy to spare. I'm bored stiff.”

She held up the stone, which had something that looked like a cross between a mouse and a stag beetle trapped inside it. Amber, he realized. This was her fossilized braxis. He glanced at Soluk, who was watching him as expressionlessly as only a dragon could. “It's sort of related. Can you tell me anything about this?”

He sat down in front of her, pulled out his knife and took the wrapping off of its crosspiece, revealing the glowing symbol. Lizenne hissed in surprise, taking the blade from him and examining it with care. “Blade of Marmora. I've only ever seen two of these. Both were in private collections. This one... judging by the lack of wear, I'd say that it was less than a hundred years old. Hah. So, they are still around. Good. Where did you get this?”

“It was my mother's.” Keith said simply.

Lizenne looked at him sharply. “Soluk?”

The dragon lifted his head and sniffed at Keith, then bobbed his head with a grunt, uttering a string of odd noises before flopping down again.

“What?” Keith asked.

“Sorry, it's the only way to be sure without rebuilding the medical section into a genetics lab,” Lizenne said, turning the knife in her hands. “He says that you're a proper first-generation hybrid, all right, which is better than being a _tchang sula_ or a vat's bastard.”

Keith glared at her. “Excuse me?”

Lizenne gave him an apologetic smile. “And I beg your forgiveness. A _tchang sula_ is a male who is impotent as a result of inbreeding, and a vat's bastard is someone who was born in a cloning vat as part of a genetics experiment. Both terms are rude, for obvious reasons. You might have noticed that there's a lot of variation in the Galran race, Keith.”

“Yeah. Sometimes I wonder if you're really all the same species.”

“It depends on who you ask. My people discovered the science of genetic manipulation very early on, and we weren't squeamish about using it to improve ourselves. Originally, it was used to weed out certain bad traits and diseases. Its true heyday was during the Great Dispersion.” Lizenne ran her fingers through her mane of lavender hair. “Modhri and I are of the original weed, suited for life in subarctic and temperate woodlands. Roughly twelve thousand years ago, the stardrive was developed at the tag-end of a long and unpleasant war. So unpleasant that colonizing other worlds looked like a very good idea. Lucky for us, we had other living worlds in our solar system, and more nearby. Whole population groups built colony ships and left. Those worlds, while capable of supporting our kind of life, weren't exactly hospitable. The colonists found it easier to change themselves to fit the planet than the other way around.”

“That would explain why some of you are leathery, rather than hairy, and some have scales.” Keith observed.

Lizenne nodded. “They'd be from Golraz Beta and Kedrek. Desert planets. Zarkon came from the original planet of Golraz before it was destroyed, and the people descended from the survivors of that disaster are fiercely proud of that fact. They look just like him, all leathery and lizardish. Kedrek's a little cooler but very dry, everything edible there is jaw-crackingly tough, and the winds are constant and murderous. As a result, the people from there are scaly, hairless, heavy-jawed, and filthy-tempered. Namtura is cooler and wetter and mostly grassland, so the people there tend to be tall and slim and fast on their feet. Korbex has a higher gravitational pull, so people from there are broad and heavy, but very strong. Palabek is covered with forests of unbelievably huge trees, so its people are large and long-armed and powerful climbers, with long tails for extra balance. Simadht, however, is a bit too close to the sun; all of its life is tucked underground in vast cave systems. Its people are very pale, with light-sensitive eyes, and they're rarely seen anywhere else.”

“All right, but what has that to do with me?” Keith asked.

“There have been numerous attempts to blend Galra genes with those of other races for one purpose or another, most of them spectacularly unsuccessful. This is why cybernetics is so popular right now.” Lizenne smiled. “There are still a few of them out there, however, although they tend to be sterile, unhealthy, or dim-witted. The fact that Humans and Galra can cross with grace is interesting, and I may ask you for a blood sample at some point, if only see how far that goes. You certainly look fully Human. What did you want me to do with this blade?”

“Use it to scry with. I... I want to know more about my mother.” Keith's voice held a note of terrible longing. “I have no family. Dad died when I was seven.”

“Ah.” Lizenne turned the blade in her hands. “It's a terrible thing for a cub to be forced into adulthood so early. I can't tell you much. The alloy used for making these blades can only be worked by a powerful mage-smith, and they're as good at keeping secrets as their wielders are. All I know myself is that they are a very secret, very skilled resistance group dedicated to the downfall of the Emperor. They've been hunted by his forces for centuries, with little success. Modhri might know more, since one of his great-uncles was a secret agent of some sort. At the very least, I will be able to show you your mother's face with this.”

“Show me,” Keith said. “Anything's better than nothing.”

Lizenne sat up straight and handed him the knife. “Hold that. Soluk, will you support me?”

The dragon chirped agreeably, and Keith caught her arm. “I want to help, too.”

She waved a cautioning finger. “That's dangerous, boy. You've had no training in this, and have no talent for it. All that you might have is bound up in your connection to the red Lion. If we run into trouble, that beast is going to claw its way up here, and Allura's going to be upset.”

“Tell me what to do,” he insisted.

Soluk rumbled, causing Lizenne to smile grimly. “Soluk says that he'll cover you. All you have to do is hold the blade and give your consent. Allow _Tahe Moq_ to flow through you without fighting it. If nothing else, it'll make it easier to find her.”

Keith nodded. “I consent.”

“Good. Sit quietly and clear your mind. You are of the pack, remember, and now you are looking for a long-lost member. Feel her heartbeat, for your own took its rhythm from hers.” Lizenne closed her eyes and took a deep breath. _“Hau khaze tahe moq, samat ke tha sorut, naneklamar se aud tahe moq...”_

Keith stared down at the gleaming blade in his hands and felt it grow warm. It seemed to pulse in time to his own heartbeat... _her_ heartbeat...

“ _...theo alek te molenchi, se aud Soluk, se mahdi Keith, se losa venash...”_

Keith suddenly felt very strange, as though he were sitting in moving water, but the water was moving through him instead of around him. It didn't hurt, and there was a distinct sensation of _someone else_ doing the same somewhere upstream of him.

“ _...hai padi, teraah! Selphan yeh solka, kemnalta par ai oulnandro.”_

The knife lifted itself out of his hands of its own accord, the hilt tilting toward him at a forty-five degree angle. A shimmer of gold at the grip resolved itself into a hand; not purple, but black. The outline of an arm appeared, inky color flushing up into it, a shoulder, the long lean torso, a head. Garbed in black, masked in black, with gleaming pale-violet lights for eyes, a tall shadow lifted the knife and stared at it in apparent surprise.

“Mom?” Keith asked in a thin voice.

The figure looked up and stared at him silently; the mask blurred and revealed a face, elements of which Keith saw every morning in the mirror. The elegant arch of the cheekbones, the large, wide-set eyes, the shape of the face and the delicate point of the chin; he had his father's coloring, but his mother's bones. They stared transfixed at each other, and a dark hand reached out to caress his face. She spoke then, a single word that rippled on the air like water, _“Khaeth?”_

His name, although pronounced differently than he was used to. He swallowed hard, and nodded.

The tall woman turned and looked around, staring at Lizenne as though committing her face to memory before turning back. _“I'll find you,”_ she whispered, laying her knife back down in his hands and leaping away into eternity.

The spell broke. Keith sagged, gasping for breath. He felt as though he had just run a marathon. Lizenne steadied him, although she didn't look much better. “Well, that worked. Goodness, but she's strong! Alive, too, which is a bonus. It must have torn her heart out to leave you, boy, but no doubt she had her reasons. That's what _Marmora_ means.”

“What?” Keith asked blurrily.

“It means 'sacrifice'. A true Blade of Marmora will sacrifice absolutely anything to achieve their goals, no matter how much it hurts, she allowed me to see that much. I wish that I could tell you what she was doing on your world all those years ago, but reading her was like trying to read a brick. In the dark. In a snowstorm. It's a good thing that I didn't try to look any deeper.”

“She's coming,” Keith said, sagging against Lizenne's shoulder. “She'll find me.”

Lizenne pulled him back against Soluk's warm scaly belly, propping them both on the dragon, who was already asleep. “Was this what you wanted?”

“Yes.” Keith looked up, struggling to focus. “Don't tell the others, okay?”

Lizenne considered the ramifications if this information got out prematurely. “I won't. Sleep, boy. You've done very well today.”

He was out like a light before she'd finished speaking.

 

Allura was in the bridge with Coran, running routine scans on the ship's systems when Lizenne walked in. This was unusual; she had avoided the pilot deck almost entirely as matter of course, if only to ease the Princess's worries about her motives. “Did you need something, Lizenne?” she asked.

“A small favor, if you would,” the witch said, looking around at the starfield beyond the screens. “Where are we, exactly?”

“Torphet System at the moment,” Coran said. “Used to be a big shipping hub back in the day. Not much left of it now.”

Lizenne paused for a moment, as if working something out. “Close enough. Can we skip a few Systems over to Amakdu? I left something on the outer moon of Inibdos that I'm going to need soon.”

“That depends,” Allura said. “What is it?”

Lizenne smiled. “If you must know, it's buried treasure. A genuine pirate chest, stashed away in my ill-spent youth.”

“You were a pirate?” Allura asked, staring at her in amazement. “Actually, that makes a lot of sense.”

Lizenne shook her head. “Not really. Piracy is fun, but it carries risks that a sensible girl avoids. No, dear, my caches are all quite legal. I distrust banks, you see, so I've been converting my funds into gems and hiding them in various spots for many years.”

Coran gave her a suspicious look. “But you were a pirate, for a little while at least.”

She grinned wickedly at him. “About eight months. Just long enough to pick up the best tricks of the trade. I turned to other branches of research after my captain made some unwelcome advances that resulted in what Lance refers to as the _thing with the thumbnails.”_

Allura giggled. “So, how does a Galra lady make her fortune in the world these days?”

“Mostly through research.” Lizenne stepped forward to stare out through the screens. “I've visited dozens of live worlds and studied what was otherwise ignored there, prospected for mineral and metal deposits on dead worlds, and traded scientific dogma with various establishments, and all for a cut of the profits. I have several industries in multiple star systems paying small royalties into numerous accounts, and every so often I will take those funds and hide them away in solid form where they can't be located, frozen, hacked, or taxed. The simple fact is that I need a new starship, Princess. I expect that you're starting to get tired of having us around, and I dislike having imposed upon your hospitality for so long.”

“Not at all!” Allura exclaimed. “You've all been a great help. The Paladins--”

Lizenne gestured a negative. “They're a fine team, but I'm running out of things to teach them. They take to their training like fish to water. It's amazing, really, and I suspect that their Lions are helping them along. Besides, Modhri and I will be of far greater use to you as independent scouts. The Emperor does have an heir, remember, and I want to go and have a fresh look at him anyway. Lotor wasn't much to look at the first time that I saw him, but that may have changed. If he's anything like his sire, he's going to be trouble.”

“True,” Coran said darkly. “Reminds me of the Heir-Presumptive of Hubakar. Everyone thought that he wasn't good for anything but chasing glitterflies until his father was assassinated. His nobles figured that they could either use him as a figurehead or just get rid of him and run the planet themselves, and they were still arguing about it when he snapped 'em all up and sent them to a penal colony on the moon. Grand fellow.”

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Lizenne said. “The Empire wants a strong leader. We've had one for a very long time and it's what we're used to, after all. If we wind up with another one like Zarkon, only with new tricks, Voltron will have considerable difficulty in breaking the Empire's power over the subject races.”

“And Haggar,” Coran said warningly. “Don't forget her.”

“Always Haggar,” Allura growled. “We're really going to have to do something about that witch.”

Lizenne was in perfect agreement there. “Indeed. Always remember that I have declared _kheshveg_ against her. Feel free to call upon me for information or aid; I will help you however I can.”

“And we will return the favor,” Allura said firmly. “Within reason, of course.”

“Of course.” Lizenne flicked her an appreciative smile. “We'll also need a lift to a starship market. The Lazasko System has a decent one and won't be too far out of the way, although you'll want to keep your distance; the Togurn Fleet Market is only mostly legitimate, and there will be dealers who will be desperate to get their hands on your museum piece here.” She knocked a knuckle on Coran's console for emphasis. “As a vital part of the drive system, Princess, you'll be as much at risk as we will.”

Allura acknowledged that with a defiant look. “Expecting trouble?”

Lizenne smiled. “I'm a rogue witch who has declared war on two of the Empire's most powerful officials and their favorite general, I have allied myself with the sworn enemies of the Emperor, killed a valuable monster, knifed a Druid, and have been the cause of a great deal of damage to a vital production center. Our dear, sweet Modhri has deprived the Empire of a huge amount of its potential arsenal of doomsday weapons as well, and I'd be very surprised if there wasn't a substantial bounty on our heads.”

Coran snorted. “So, how are you going to get around that? Have Modhri turn you in for the bounty and then bust your way out? Had a cadet once who did that three times before his mother caught up with him.”

She grinned evilly at him. “I'll show you when we get there.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are what keep us writing. If you like this or even just want to flail around a little, feel free to give us a poke!


	10. So Long, And Thanks For All The Bacon

Chapter 10: So Long, And Thanks For All The Bacon

 

“Fifteen men on a dead man's chest, yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum...”

“Shut up, Hunk,” Lance grumbled.

“Drink and the Devil had done for the rest, yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum.”

“ _Hunk..._ my thumbnails aren't as long as Lizenne's, but so help me...”

“Aw, come on, Lance, it's traditional.” Hunk grinned at him as they heaved a large, heavy chest out of a pocket in the lunar rock. “Pirate treasure, pirate songs, they go together like eggs and bacon. Mmm, bacon.”

“Yeah, but you've got a singing voice like a hippo with bronchitis,” Lance complained.

“Like yours is any better,” Hunk retorted, “and if you think that mine's bad, you should've heard my Dad's. After a few beers, he could belt out old show tunes so loud and awful that the local police used to use him to disperse angry crowds. I'm not making that up, by the way. I _wish_ I was making that up. He got into Mom's cooking sherry during my sister's tenth birthday and sang 'Happy Birthday', and it took us three hours to coax all the guests down out of the trees. The cake melted, too.”

Lance stared at him. “The _cake_ melted?”

“Ice cream cake. Chocolate and marscapone-rum gelato. It was tragic.”

“Just hold up your end of the box, okay?” Lance sighed. “I wonder if she'll let us have a look at what's in here. Do space gems look like Earth gems?”

“I dunno.” Hunk hauled the box free of the rock with a grunt. “All I've seen so far are the Balmeran crystals, and I know for sure that Earth doesn't have anything like those. Or that weird thing in amber that Lizenne's got.”

As it turned out, she was perfectly willing to show them her loot, and they _ooh_ 'ed and _aah_ 'ed over the more predictable gems in the boxes inside. There was a positive rainbow of prismatic fire within, each bit of glitter in its own personal box or canister, and a lot of other things that they didn't recognize. “Tuwho skystone,” she said, indicating an oval of something sort of peachy-colored, “considered to be lucky by many other peoples. And here's a find; Belanva green agates. Very rare, since those were found only on one moon, and then a Weblum ate it.”

“Aagh! You've got an eyeball in here!” Lance yelped and dropped a box he'd been examining.

Lizenne caught it before it hit the floor. “Wizard's-eye from Azlut. Relax, it's just a reflection of your own eye. The Mystics of Ophunla believe that they drive off evil spirits.”

Keith made a face. “It's still gross-looking. Are you going to trade all of these in on a new ship?”

“No, just a few of them. These, I think, given the preferences of the Lazaskans.” Lizenne lifted a small case of what appeared to be white gumballs out of the chest. “Loriar pearls.”

Pidge stared at the uninteresting, slightly irregular white rounds. “They'll give you money for these?”

“They'll fall all over themselves to do so. Lazaskans see much further into the ultraviolet than we do. Bring me a black light and I'll show you why they love these.”

Pidge scampered off, returning with a small purple hand-lamp. Under the glow from that, the pearls seemed to catch fire, burning with the glitter and intensity of fireworks in dozens of bright or subtle colors. “Whoa,” Hunk said.

Lizenne nodded. “Also very rare. I picked these up from Loriar about three years before the planet was stripped and destroyed.”

The Paladins cried out in protest at this, but Lizenne merely shook her head. “It happens, and has been happening for the last several thousand years. Loriar's government decided that they didn't want to pay the heavy tributes that the Empire demanded of them, so they beheaded their Governor and sent the Emperor a letter of formal despite. Zarkon made an example of them. Oh, there are a few enclaves of Lorians left, but they're very skittish. This is the sort of thing that we're trying to stop, after all.”

“We're working on it,” Shiro said grimly. “So, how are you going to dodge the police if there are wanted posters of you scattered around? You've got Allura bubbling over with ideas. A good disguise is my guess.”

“You'll see,” Lizenne smiled impishly at him, “it's one of my favorite tricks, even though it takes a fair amount of effort. Modhri thinks it's hilarious.”

 

The Castle was parked in an outer orbit, concealed in the shadow of a roving moonlet; even so, Coran had the weapons armed and the shields up, just in case. The plan was for the two Galra to swap gems for cash in one of the Market's higher-end jewelry exchanges and then head onward toward the dockyards; by this time, everyone was eager to see Lizenne's new trick. And Modhri's as well, as it turned out.

“One of my elder brothers is a character actor in a reasonably popular vidscreen series,” he said cheerfully, “he taught me a few interesting tricks of the trade, and the Castle's tailoring and cosmetic apparati were willing to cooperate.”

The others watched curiously, and then with growing fascination. He was wearing what appeared to be a suit and jacket that were slightly too large for him, and holding a few jars and pouches of mysterious substances, and a cane had been propped against a nearby chair. A dusting of pale powder combed through his fur turned it a faded grayish color, with white streaks above the ears; thin lines of a fine dark powder here and there gave him wrinkles and accentuated the color of his eyes. He hunched his still-gaunt shoulders and leaned on the cane, and suddenly he was fifty years older at least. He gave them a sweet, misty smile and said, “Good afternoon, children,” in a hoarse, thin voice.

“By the Ancients, Coran, he looks just like your great-grandfather!” Allura exclaimed.

Coran gave him a critical look. “No, no, he doesn't have the mustache. Proud family tradition, the mustache, even my sisters had them, poor girls. But very close, all the same.”

Modhri smirked. “It gets worse,” he said in a normal tone of voice, quirking his eyebrows at Lizenne.

Lizenne had dressed in a light blue skirt that had been kilted up short with ribbons and a shirt of some stretchy fabric in a slightly darker shade, and she held a pair of small sandals and a length of blue ribbon in one hand. “My skills don't include cosmetics. Watch.”

She closed her eyes and began to chant quietly under her breath, and then something remarkable happened. Lizenne's proud features softened, her fur grew longer and fluffy, and she shrank at least three feet. She was growing younger right in front of their eyes! When she opened her eyes again, they were a darker, almost amber color, and she appeared to be no more than ten years old. _“Tahe Moq,”_ she said in a little-girl voice while tying the ribbon around her hair in a bow and slipping on the sandals, “Is a difficult and dangerous form of magic, but one upside is that you get to choose what age you appear to be.” She turned to Modhri and began tugging at his sleeve. “Grandpa, Grandpa, I wanna starship, Grandpa, wif a fully-'quipped gene-lab an' really big guns, an'-an'-an' a lot of room for the dragons an' me to play in! And a dolly!”

Modhri chuckled and chucked her beneath the chin, the very picture of an indulgent patriarch. “We'll see, dear child, and don't tell your mother!”

Their audience gaped in astonishment, at least until Pidge began to laugh. “That's great! I wish I could do that! Are you going to use that for selling the pearls?”

Lizenne giggled. “No way. Cubs aren't allowed in the high-end jewelry emporiums. For that, we'll do this.”

Modhri straightened up and smoothed his hair back, taking off his jacket and adjusting his shirt. A few adjustments to posture and expression, including a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses, and he was suddenly a fearsome butler, the sort that could terrify the entire servant staff of a large manor house with a single glance. Lizenne began to grow older, going past her preferred age at a frightening clip. Her hair grew long and silvery, her eyes paled, and the bones of her face and body seemed to fine down to an austere elegance. Her skirt was let down into an elegant floor-length sweep, the ribbon swept her hair up into a simple but stylish knot, and when she raised her chin and looked down her nose at them, she was just the sort of highborn lady that would employ a butler like Modhri. Her aristocratic sneer was a work of art in and of itself, and when she snarled, _“Kneel, peasants,”_ in a tone of voice that had icicles dripping off of it, Hunk's, Lance's, and Coran's knees hit the floor before they realized what they were doing.

Lizenne laughed. “And that was _my_ grandmother, who frightened me and my siblings into terrified obedience on a regular basis. Horrible old woman, but she always got her way.”

“My brother likes her well enough,” Modhri said, eyes twinkling with humor. “She's a well-known sponsor of the theatrical arts, and she once bestowed the honor of her presence at his studio. He honored her right back with the full submission ritual from Episode #46 of _The Romantic Adventures of Captain Orunaz_ and won the studio a donation from her that kept them afloat for two years. I believe she still hires him for private performances now and again.”

It was Lizenne's turn to look shocked. “I did not know that. I've _seen_ that episode.” She stared into the middle distance with a faintly horrified look on her face for a long moment, and then began to laugh helplessly, slipping back into her own preferred age. “It's just the sort of thing that she'd like best, too. Oh, dear. Well, if they make each other happy, why not?”

“That's very impressive,” Allura said, “but what about the dragons? I expect that they'll want to come along.”

Tilla and Soluk had been sitting quietly nearby, watching them with considerable interest. Tilla chirruped and got to her feet, and changed as well. She began to shrink and change shape, her scales and spines transforming into feathers, her colors shifting from their sand-and-pebble pattern to a wonderful profusion of metallic reds, oranges, and golds. The effect, at the end of it, was that of a great dane dressed up for Mardi Gras. In the meantime, Soluk was also altering his appearance, becoming even smaller and plush-furred. His color changed to a rich golden-brown, with large ears and a long bushy tail.

Modhri smiled admiringly. “Tharnassus phoenix-hound and a graal-cat from Kanur. Just the sort of beloved pets that an overindulged lady of any age might dandle around. And they're both quite able to defend themselves, which is a plus. You two will have to put up with wearing leashes, I'm afraid. The Market's regulations are strictly enforced. I checked.”

The two dragons gave him a dirty look, but nodded.

“Now, that's impressive,” Keith said. “Can you do that, Lizenne?”

“Not yet,” the witch said, “and probably not until I've had several more years of study. Moving your own body clock forward and back isn't exactly easy. Changing your whole species is much more difficult.”

“I'm happy enough as I am,” Modhri agreed. “You'll want to see if the autotailor can run you up some ornaments, my Lady. A proper Matriarch should never go unadorned in public.”

“Quite right. I've certainly got the raw materials.” Lizenne sighed and nodded at Allura. “I'll let you keep those pieces when I'm done with them, in return for your hospitality, Allura, and don't object! You might need something current to trade in the future, whether it's for fast cash, a hostage, or as a sweetener in an alliance agreement. What people will not do for duty or for honor, they will do for treasure.”

“I know,” Allura replied, remembering some of her father's own courtiers. “And I thank you.”

 

To the Paladins' disgust, they weren't allowed to come along on the shopping trip, but they were allowed to watch. Modhri had allowed Pidge and Hunk to fit him with a small video transmitter, just in case of emergencies, and now the whole crowd, including the mice, were watching the fun in the holodeck. Hunk had even coaxed the kitchen into producing something like popcorn for the occasion. Lizenne and Modhri were currently in their aristocratic disguises, and quite dramatically so. The autotailor had indeed been able to produce fine settings for the gems that Lizenne offered it, and now Modhri sported an ornate brooch that would have looked overdone on anyone with less dignity, and Lizenne fairly sparkled. Allura's coffers were going to be a great deal richer after this. The display certainly cowed the haughty store owner into submission, and the poor fellow bowed and scraped shamelessly as he showed her all of his best pieces, his assistants rushing to offer her every comfort that the store could produce, even to the point of allowing her pair of pedigree phoenix-hounds into the shop. The expression on the poor fellow's face when she waved away his wares and had Modhri open the security casket that held the pearls was priceless.

“She's good at that,” Allura giggled. “I didn't know that Galra eyes could bug out that far.”

Hunk grabbed another handful of popcorn. “Yeah, that was pretty good. One of my Dad's cousins did that to a jeweler once, when he brought in a pearl he'd found that was as big as the end of his thumb. Poor guy nearly had a heart attack.”

Coran tugged at his mustache and smiled nostalgically. “Your own grandmother, Allura, was notorious for that sort of thing. She considered any piece of jewelry that she'd had for more than six months to be stale, somehow, and was forever swapping out her crown jewels. Drove the Treasurer mad in the end, poor fellow. Lovely woman, but she liked the getting more than the having, if you see what I mean. Oops! And there's the master gemsetter himself.”

A gangly figure had just rushed out of the back of the shop and was now poring over the pearls with a black light and a small scanner. Not a Galra, but something slimmer, with six arms, four ears, and seven eyes of varying sizes. “Vamruskin gems-master,” Coran said knowledgeably. “Famous, even back in my day. Each eye sees a different wavelength of light, and those ears can pick up sonar. As you can see, they're still a tad excitable.”

There was smothered laughter in the room as the gems-master started capering wildly around the table. Lizenne and Modhri merely watched the fellow dance with icy calm. “Must not have had any good pearls in for a while,” Lance observed.

“Probably not, judging by his actions,” Coran replied. “Yes, that's a full declaration of acquisition, all right. If his boss doesn't buy the whole case for him to play with, he'll suicide on the spot. Probably with that hairpin on the counter... no, points to that shop assistant there, she's swapped it out for a letter knife. Mustn't get blood all over the merchandise, you know.”

They watched in fascination as a very large amount of money was traded for the pearls, and as the pair and their hounds swept grandly out of the doors shortly afterward. They were also treated to a little more action when a small gang of desperadoes lunged out of an alley at them.

“They're being attacked!” Pidge yelped, springing up out of her seat, “They're going to be... oh, wow.”

Shiro stared at the screen in mild horror. “Do they always do that when threatened?”

Allura nodded. “That's why they're called phoenix hounds. Bursting into flame is a defense mechanism. One of my cousins had one, and it burned down three separate gazebos at a garden party once, when it disturbed a hive of helbas.”

“Modhri's no slouch, either,” Keith observed. “Nice work, Coran. I bet he'll... _Ugggh!”_

They stared at the screen in silent awe. Lance whimpered. Lizenne had just demonstrated _the_ _thing with the thumbnails._

“I have got to learn how to do that,” Allura said in a shocked whisper, and her nearest neighbors edged away from her nervously. “My goodness. I hope the Market has a good medical corps.”

“Yup, there they are,” Hunk said shakily. “Wow. I'm glad they're on our side, guys.”

“No argument there,” Shiro said, watching Lizenne give a short, irritable statement to the Market police while wiping her hands on a towel that one thoughtful medic had given her. “It's given them an excuse to step into the public restrooms, at least.”

The view joggled slightly as Modhri set the vidcorder aside to adjust his costume, and rejoined a much younger Lizenne and two graal-cats outside. She handed him a small heavy packet that was tucked away quickly in an inside pocket of his jacket, and they caught a cab ride down to the docks. The sheer variety of ships available for sale there was amazing. There were ships of every color and size, ships of every possible configuration, there were even a few of the traditional flying saucers on display, gleaming in the sunlight. There were also some familiar craft available, although not as working ships.

“I recognize that,” Lance said, pointing to a chunk of ragged purple hullplating, “I broke that! Well, the blue Lion did, but hey, that's mine! Coran, what does that sign say?”

“As far as I can make out, it reads, 'Genuine souvenir of Voltron battle'.” Coran frowned at him. “It's just some scavenger trying to make a little more cash, and don't get any ideas. Heroes are above such petty things.”

“Yeah,” Lance subsided with a disappointed sigh. “Heroism isn't a high-paying job, is all.”

More popcorn was munched as they watched their two friends inspect this ship or that. It was fascinating to see the effect that the pair had on dealers and passers-by. Modhri's apparent age inspired respect in some and calculation in others, but _everybody_ got out of Lizenne's way, even when she was skipping along with her hand in her “grandfather's”. When Pidge commented on that, Coran looked very thoughtful. “I think that I've heard something about that. Yeah, that's right. Little Galra girls are dangerous to be around when their powers start manifesting. Phoenix hounds aren't the only ones who set things on fire in their own defense, you know.”

It didn't take the pair long to gravitate toward the science- and explorer-class ships, and those fascinated Hunk. “What I wouldn't give to be down there with them,” he sighed, pointing at a tangle of machinery that one dealer proudly displayed for them. “That's a really good engine he's got there. Modhri and I were talking about that while Coran had us running checks on the Castle's drive, and, well, let's just say that there are a lot of physicists back home who are gonna be upset at how simple space travel really is. Especially if you've got a good chunk of Balmeran crystal.”

“Simple?” Shiro asked.

Hunk nodded. “Yeah. Simple. Not easy, not cheap, but simple. Modhri showed me the math.”

“I'll take your word for it. That's a nice-looking ship.”

“Nah. The stabilizers are shot—see how it's leaning at least ten degrees to the left? The forward section's been modified by somebody who should've been building doghouses instead, and the thrusters are from three different ships. It's garbage.”

Modhri seemed to agree, and waved off the dealer. Lizenne stuck her tongue out at him as they passed him by.

“How about that one?” Keith said, pointing at something long, black, and sleek.

Hunk eyed the ship with distaste. “It looks nice, but it's too small, and I'll bet that the drive needs servicing after every jump. That's someone's midlife crisis.”

“How about that one?” Lance asked, indicating something aggressively green. “Look at the size of those cannons!”

“Orbital pirate hunter. Strictly short-range.” Hunk flicked a hand. “No good.”

“That one, maybe?” Pidge asked, indicating a large red sphere.

“Nope. Drive ring's non-standard. See how the ports don't match up? If they try to dodge asteroids in that, they'll lose the navcomp at best, and the whole drive to the first rock that hits them.”

“That big purple thing, maybe?” Coran asked.

“Stolen. See how they've sanded the registration off?”

“The blue one with the tower, then?” Allura asked.

“Modhri told me that one of his brothers had one of those, and said that the life-support systems liked to change their settings without warning. No.”

“The brown one with the white stripes?” Shiro asked.

“Smells bad. The folks who make those evolved from something like skunks.”

“Oh!” Allura said suddenly, “Look at that!”

The ship in question was large and bluish-green, with elegant lines and powerful engines. It was somewhat larger than the _Chimera's Clutch_ had been, and looked a lot newer. Lizenne seemed to like the look of it, and Modhri began his inspection.

“Niiiice,” Hunk said admiringly. “Nice stable drive, Balmeran crystal system, fast and maneuverable. Good defensive systems, too, and a top-notch sensory suite. Two escape pods, which is always good. Science ship of some sort. Come on, guys, let's see the interior...”

As they watched, Modhri gave them a good look around while the dealer gave them the dime tour. Hunk approved. “Okay, nice big recreation deck with the full enviro-kit, six big cabins and a high-class galley, even a stateroom. Whoa. Is that a mad-science lab?”

Pidge was on firmer ground there. “Yeah, and a good one. Doubles as a medical bay, too. That'll make her happy. Modhri seems to like it.”

So did Lizenne. While Modhri distracted the dealer, the little girl danced around the equipment as little girls did when they were bored, but her amber eyes were calculating and missed no details. She signaled that this was the one by tugging on Modhri's jacket and shouting something while bouncing on her toes. Modhri smiled indulgently and began a haggling session with the dealer that lasted for some time. Judging by the dealer's increasingly pained expression, Modhri was a better bargainer than he would have liked. The appalled expression on the dealer's face when Modhri offered cash up front made Lance hoot with laughter. “Gotcha! Nothing upsets a car salesman like offering him cash. Mom made one cry once by doing that. They make all their money off of those financing plans, you know, and they can't even turn you down if you won't play that game.”

The rules worked the same even here, it seemed, and the dealer's smile had lost a fair amount of its sparkle when Modhri accepted the ship's keys from him. Hunk sighed. “Looks like they've got their ship. I'm gonna miss them.”

The others sobered. “Yeah,” Keith agreed softly. “It's weird, but I've sort of been thinking of them as my aunt and uncle. It's been nice to have a couple of extra grownups around, even if they are Galra.”

“And the dragons,” Lance added. “Nothing like a big spiky lizard knocking you flat, pulling off your helmet and slurping your face to brighten your day.”

“A day without dragon drool is a day without sunshine,” Coran said, but his heart wasn't in it.

Even Allura seemed a little sad. “They've promised to keep in touch. They'll be back here anyway, if only to pick up their treasure chest.”

Hunk nodded and stood up. “I'm gonna go make some tanrook buns. Might as well see them off properly, just like they did with Shiro and me the first time.”

 

The new ship, appropriately named _Chimera Rising,_ matched orbits with the Castle without either breaking down unexpectedly or coming under fire, a fact that made a few of the Paladins feel cheated for some reason, and their few possessions were transferred over in a matter of minutes. They did stay for dinner at Hunk's insistence, something that Lizenne and the dragons appreciated mightily. Being different creatures and ages all day had really taken it out of them. “It's not _Tahe Moq_ itself,” she explained, _“that's_ everywhere you look. It's the effort of coaxing it into doing things that it ordinarily wouldn't do. Unless you're acting as a part of a dedicated coven or are hopped up on Quintessence, you have to be prepared to take the consequences. This includes eating everything in sight. Pass the buns, please.”

Lizenne also took the time to teach Allura how to incapacitate an unarmored attacker with only her thumbnails; Allura, being gifted with the ability to alter the shape of her hands, had no trouble. The difficulty lay in finding a suitable practice dummy. All of the Castle's training equipment was hard metal, ceramic, or plastic, and the Paladins weren't exactly willing to help out.

“Oh, stop cowering, you lot, and bring me a sofa cushion,” Allura scolded, then leveled a glare at Lance, who was whimpering again. “I'm not going to hurt you. Wear your armor if you must, but hold still!”

“It's very simple, Princess,” Lizenne told her, once the cushion had been produced and Lance had been persuaded to stop fidgeting, “One quick lunge with both hands out, palms forward, tips of the thumbclaws facing outward. Drive the points in beneath the breastbone and follow the line under the ribcage—don't lock your elbows! This will allow you to bring your hands back across the belly if necessary, and while it's not usually fatal, it will keep him from coming back. Like so--”

She lunged suddenly, and fabric tore; there was an almost simultaneous squawk of terror and a receding blue streak across the room. “There. Attacker discouraged, and if necessary, eviscerated. All that remains is getting another cushion... oh, and hauling Lance out from under the couch. You're in full armor, you idiot. That wouldn't even have scratched your finish.”

“So _you_ say,” something under the couch grumbled.

Modhri eventually laid hold of his ankle and hauled him out bodily so that Allura could have a turn. This time he stayed put, but there was a metallic screech among the sounds of tearing fabric; she'd gone right through the pillow.

Lizenne smiled. “Very good, although you might use a little less force next time, I think. You are going to need him later, after all.”

Lance whimpered, staring down at the two long scratches on his breastplate, and then ran for cover again.

“Much less force,” Allura agreed, shaking her hands and flexing her fingers with a pained smile. “That hurt. I don't know when I'll use that technique, but thank you. I thank both of you, for everything you've done for us.”

“And we thank you,” Modhri said gently, handing her a packet that jingled faintly, “for the same. Here is your treasure, as we had promised. Use it well, and remember to keep an open mind. Good luck.”

Lizenne handed her a long-range communicator. “And this is for the future. Remember—if you need us, call. I can't guarantee that we'll come running, but we'll do what we can.”

Allura accepted that, and handed her one of the Castle's communicators. “I grant you the same, and with the same warning. Farewell, and may you succeed in your goals.”

Lizenne cackled. “'Only one thing will stop me; victory or death'!” she quoted scornfully. “Hah. Let's see how Zarkon likes his philosophy when it's pointed at his own heart. Farewell, my friends, and never let despair darken your vision. Remember; you are of the pack, and the pack is as one—forever. So long as you hold together, your foes can never prevail.”

She turned, possibly to make a grand exit, but Hunk caught her up in a huge bear hug instead. “I'm gonna miss you guys so much,” he said sniffling into her hair, and then gave Modhri a worried look. “This is allowed, right? I'm allowed to hug Scary Space Aunt without you getting mad?”

Modhri laughed. “It's all right if it's family.”

“That's good, because I've been wanting to do this,” Pidge said, leaping up and wrapping her arms around his neck. “You saved mine, Awesome Space Uncle. I'll never be able to thank you enough for that.”

He cradled her close with a fond smile. “It was worth it, for me as much as you, cub. Even with the loss of the ship and all of the noise and fuss that happened afterward. Shiro, once again I thank you for everything. May you have victory in all of your battles.”

Shiro clasped Modhri's hand in his mechanical one. “We'll see you again, Modhri, hopefully soon. Good luck out there, and don't let Lizenne get in over her head.”

Modhri snorted. “I'm not strong enough to stop her. Ask the dragons for that favor.”

Lizenne had managed to extricate herself from Hunk's grip, only to find herself caught between Keith and Lance. “Thanks for everything, Lizenne,” Keith said softly, “everything.”

“Even if you do scare the crap out of us sometimes,” Lance agreed.

Lizenne chuckled and patted their heads. “You're quite welcome, but I warn you, boys, if you adopt me as aunt, I shall consider you to be my nephews, and I will drive you unmercifully to the peak of your skills. It is my duty as your mother's sister, adoptive or no.”

“We're ready for you,” Lance said with a fierce smile.

“Mom would cheer you on,” Hunk said.

“I'm sure that mine would too,” Keith said.

Lizenne smirked. “I can only hope so. Now go say goodbye to Modhri, and don't leave out the dragons. They've earned your thanks as well.”

The three nodded and headed off to fight Pidge for a turn at Modhri, leaving room for Coran to clasp her hand and kiss it in as gentlemanly a fashion as he could muster. “It's been fun, m'Lady, and I hope that you'll travel with us again sometime, although perhaps without having your ship shot out from under you first. You've done wonders for the team, you know.”

“So I've been told,” Lizenne said, looking fondly at the Paladins. “They're a grand bunch, aren't they? All full of interesting surprises. Hold the line, Coran, and never let them see you falter. Take care of Allura until she's in a position to find a man of her own, will you? She's holding well, but she needs looking after, and the future is uncertain.”

“I've been doing that ever since she came of age, Lizenne.” Coran sighed. “She was actually betrothed to a fine young Duke from one of the Colonies when she was little, but things... well, things got in the way, and then it was too late. To tell you the truth, she's been like a daughter to me. I'm proud of her.”

Lizenne considered the Princess, who was getting her face washed by both dragons at the moment. “As well you should be. We're going to miss you all as well. It has, as you have said, been fun. I haven't enjoyed myself around so many other people in more years than I care to count.”

“I think you mentioned once that you'd left home early.” Coran said with a sidelong glance at her.

Lizenne nodded gravely. “I've always been a bit wild. Mine is a high family, Coran, very much involved in politics, which I frankly can't stand. My parents, my aunts, my uncles, and most of my elder siblings had all been trying to shape me into something that I despised so that they could use me as a political tool for their own gain. I refused, and went my own way the very day after I earned my pilot's license. They never quite forgave me for ruining their plans for me. Galra women are naturally a little solitary, but I took it to extremes. Hah. I spent seven years half-feral among the dragons of Zampedri, and those were the best years of my life... up to the point where a scrying session informed me that Modhri was in danger. It's no fun at all to have to become civilized again all at once, but it was worth it, and things really picked up when Tilla and Soluk dropped a pair of Paladins on my doorstep.”

Coran chuckled. “They did the same for us, believe me. I am honored to work with them.”

“As are we.” Lizenne murmured.

 

When the last farewells had been spoken and the _Chimera Rising_ had left, everyone felt somewhat at a loss. The Castle seemed too large, too empty, and too quiet all over again. The Paladins soon fell back into their training routine over the next several days, but it wasn't the same; the Castle had no way to replicate a fight with a witch, and no mechanic's art on earth or off of it could make the gladiator-drones pull someone's helmet off with their teeth and slurp his face. Coran and Allura did their best with holograms and tweaks to the force-shield generators in the invisible-maze room, but even Pidge couldn't feel those and fight at the same time. Just about the only thing that they could do was the standard battle-training and flights in their Lions... and the bonding exercises. Those, at least, required no special equipment. Just a darkened room and someone to give them the spoken cues, although they all soon agreed that Coran should be disqualified from doing that. Coran had a broad sense of humor and tended to get bored easily, and five young cadets in full pack-bond trance was a terrible temptation for him.

While it did have the desirable effect of making it easier to coordinate the Lions and steer Voltron around, it had one unlooked-for and not particularly welcome effect on Shiro. Shiro was well-aware that he was suffering from partial amnesia, and probably some form of PTSD. His mind often threw up images, sensations, and fragments of memory at odd moments, and for the most part he was able to work through them. Unfortunately, there were fragments among them that didn't fit and couldn't possibly be real. And there was worse. That _worse_ had a nasty habit of intruding at odd moments...

Such as now. He'd been fending off one of the gladiator drones when his vision blurred again, plunging him into a dim place flooded with bloody light where a dark and terrible figure fouled the air with its mephitic reek and voices screaming in agony rose up around him—save for one, who wasn't there and never would be again. It lasted only a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for the drone to slam him to the floor.

Hunk and Keith stopped the thing before it could strike again, and Shiro heard Allura's voice calling a halt to the exercise through the ringing in his ears.

“Aw, Shiro, _again?”_ Hunk said, helping him to his feet. “It's getting really bad, man. This is like the third time that's happened this week. I thought you were getting better.”

“So was I,” Shiro grunted, removing his helmet and rubbing at his head; it ached, and he could still hear the screaming, just barely, on the far side of his mind. “I think... I think that the dream the dragons gave me knocked something loose in my memory. I've been having bad dreams and flashbacks, and parts of them keep popping up at random.”

“Huh,” Lance said, pulling off his own helmet; the others followed suit, looking at their leader with concern. “One of my cousins had that, once. He was in a car wreck—some drunk driver piled into his parents' van when they were coming home one night. Nobody was really hurt, but he had nightmares for weeks. The only thing that made it better was to talk them out. Want to try it, Shiro?”

Personally, he would rather have eaten a bug. On the other hand, if it helped to ease the visions, it was worth a shot. “Sure. Not here, though. Allura, we're taking a break.”

“All right,” she replied, sounding worried as well. “Shall we meet you in the lounge?”

“Sounds good,” Keith replied.

A little time later, they were sitting comfortably with drinks near to hand and a plate of snacks on the table, although Shiro was feeling too uneasy to enjoy them. Probing the fragmented events of his year in captivity always unsettled him. “It has something to do with a battle I had in the arena,” he said quietly when the others had gotten comfortable. “I don't remember much about that time, except that they forced me to fight... well, a lot of things. Aliens, I think, and creatures from Haggar's lab. Myzax wasn't the only experiment that she'd been field-testing there. They made me fight a Druid, once.”

“You said that it didn't go well,” Pidge recalled.

Shiro shook his head. “It didn't. I had no idea of how to deal with that thing, and it took advantage of that. I think that Haggar may have been showing off to the crowd that day, just to remind them that even someone who could take on things like Myzax couldn't win against one of those. The fight itself is a blur, but I remember hurting a lot afterward, and I'm not afraid to admit that I was scared stiff. Those things have no mercy at all.”

“So, you've been having flashes of that, and bad dreams,” Coran said thoughtfully. “Not uncommon, that. The subconscious mind has a habit of replaying things like this in order to keep the conscious bits from getting into those situations again. The system's a little clumsy, but it's effective.”

“Depends on who you ask,” Shiro said darkly. “I can understand that much, and the other flashes of memory I've been getting. What's worrying me is the nightmares I've been having. It's always the same one, but it feels like a memory. It can't be, because it never happened.”

“How peculiar,” Allura said, giving him a concerned frown. “Describe it, if you would.”

Shiro leaned back against the cushions, trying to order thoughts that would have preferred to blow away in the wind. Something wasn't right about that dream, and it worried him deeply. “It begins with four of us flying in the Lions, searching for the fifth. The missing Lion... it changes every time I have the dream, but it's usually Pidge who's gone.”

“Me?” Pidge squeaked.

Shiro nodded, rubbed at one gritty eye, and continued. “Something had happened, and you'd disappeared. We were looking everywhere for you. The search gets interrupted by a big fleet of Galra warships—a _big_ one, there had to be at least a hundred heavy cruisers and destroyers, and a flagship that was half again as large as the others. They contact us and gloat a little, saying that they've got our missing teammate. We attack. We can't _not_ attack. Then the missing Lion comes out, and riding on its back is a Druid. All of a sudden, it starts to glow, and we lose control of our Lions. There are malfunction alarms and flashing lights, but that's nothing compared to what happens next. The Druid does something that sets my brain and heart on fire, and then everything goes red, and I hear everyone screaming, including myself. Including the Lions. I can feel everyone dying, and I smell something foul, and the last thing I see is Voltron tearing the Castle apart.”

He looked up at his friends, and found them all staring at him in horror.

“That... that's pretty bad,” Hunk said with a shudder. “It sure beats the one I've got about the kitchen trying to eat me. Is that the only one?”

“No,” Shiro replied, “but the other one is nothing like as complex. Remember on Zampedri, where the grass is taller than we are? It was night-time, and I was running through those grasses. There was someone that I had to find in a hurry out there, and something out there that was hunting him. Or her. I'm not sure. I had to keep that person safe from the hunter, or the universe was doomed.”

“Did you ever find him?” Keith asked.

Shiro shook his head. “No. Whoever was being hunted was running. Whatever was doing the hunting was running. I was running after them both. Until... until something happened, I don't know what, nobody could find anybody. I haven't had a dream like that since the last round of exams in the Academy.”

They were all silent for a moment, digesting this odd load of information. Coran eventually heaved a sigh and twiddled his mustache. “Like I've said before, prophetic dreams aren't all that uncommon among Paladins. The Lions do tend to boost that sort of talent a little, but it can be maddeningly vague at the best of times. Some cadets would have grand and portentous visions, only to find out that it was all metaphor and never meant anything important. Others would have hunches that were remarkably accurate, but not terribly useful because they either happened two seconds before the event, or six hours afterward. These odd dreams might be a warning. On the other hand, they might be a vision of something that won't ever happen. Or they're just the result of eating too much parvlet at dinner, which was usually the case for the previous teams, although lurix-fish salad also had that sort of effect on some. Used to just give me gas.”

Allura flashed Coran a disapproving glance. “I'm sure we'll keep that in mind. I suggest that we finish our break and continue with the training session; dreams or no dreams, you must become more proficient in battle.”

The Paladins groaned about it a little but agreed, and by the time that they'd finally fought the gladiator-drones to a standstill, their unease had worn off.

Shiro did not dream again that night, nor the next, and he soon had other things to think about.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kokochan: And with that, the first arc of this series comes to a close. Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this and encourage us! We're gonna take a week or so off before posting the first part of the next fic in the series.  
> Spanch: So until then, here are a few words that are not exactly spoilers, but still have something to do with the oncoming events: Hot potato. Grand Theft Starbase. Crumb-snatching anklebiter. Family matters. Velociraptors. Cookies. Pirate Princess Pi--MMMRPH!  
> Kokochan: *Rolled Up Sock of No Spoilers applied* Thaaaat's enough for now. Hope to see you all again in the next fic!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this first chapter! We have tons more in store, and some of it tastes like bacon!


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